The Curse of the MarieSuzette
by AMarguerite
Summary: Grantaire is drunk, Jean Valjean is tormented, and everyone is generally confused. Victor Hugo makes a happy little appearance to assert himself as THE AUTHOR. I enjoy the smooth, intriging flavor of Vanilla Coke.
1. Chapter One, Part One

A/N:  Wheeee!  I'm sugar high!  So if that explains a lot… ;-)  French translations are at the end of the chapter.  

Disclaimer:  No.  I'm not Victor Hugo.  And I don't own the copyright of Les Mis.  I own the CD, and a tattered copy of the book, and the DVD of Les Mis in concert, and… uh… hmmm.  What was I saying?

"Forgive me all my trespasses and take me to your glory," Jean Valjean murmured quietly.  A final prayer for a pious man.

"_Non!  Arrêtez- vous mademoiselle!  Qui est-ce ton fait?"*  _

The three looked up in surprise.  Jean Valjean even stopped dying for a moment.

"_Zut, alors!  Il est **mon livre !  J'ai écrie le !  Ne touche pas !  **__Arrêtez- vous!  C'est mon… oof."**  There was a loud sound from above their heads, as if someone had fallen very painfully to the ground.  They all jumped.  Marius even graciously fell out of his chair onto the ground, leaving Cosette to suddenly shift chairs._

"What…?"  Cosette asked.  "Is, is someone trying to steal that man's book?"  She looked at Marius and then at Jean Valjean in confusion.  Marius glanced at the ceiling in bewilderment.

"I… don't know _ma chérie_. It sounds like that…."  Marius stood and picked up a large rock that happened to be in his father- in- law's apartment for no apparent reason.  He flung the rock at the ceiling.  "Hey!  Leave that man alone!  We're in the middle of a death scene."

The man groaned.  "_Non… mon Dieu, laissiez mon chef- d'oeuvre… j'ai travaille dur dans le… s'il vous plais… non !  Mettez le stylo plume sur le bureau.  Non, n'écrites pas !  _Nooooooooon__ !__  Mon chef- d'œuvre…."***__

Jean Valjean began wishing that everyone in the garret above him would just shut up so he could die.  He cleared his throat.  "Forgive me all my trespasses-"

He was interrupted by the occupants of the garret above him yet again.  This time it was maniacal laughter from a female.  The three occupants of the garret looked around for another strategically placed rock.    

"Mwahahahahahaha.  Now my beloved Enjy can never die!"  

Jean Valjean sighed.  "Please just let me die.  Fantine, take me to G-" Yet the poor man was interrupted again when the room began spinning.

"M-Marius?"  Cosette ran to her husband, and they clutched each other protectively.  Jean Valjean mustered his strength and rubbed his eyes.  

"Papa, the room…."  Just then there was a bright flash of light and what seemed like the whole of Paris appeared in Jean Valjean's apartment.  

Jean Valjean blinked, but immediately saw Fantine, who was standing next to him.  "Ah, all right.  I'm dead now.  Farewell, Cosette, Marius… Fantine, if you could lead me to salvation… I'd like to see my friend the bishop again."

"Ah, monsieur, I'm not so sure… I think… I'm… alive again."  Fantine, looking better then she had before she died, poked herself in the hand several times.  "I'm, I'm alive!  What's going on?!"

"Papa, who are all these people?  Who is that woman?"  Cosette glanced around the crowded room.  "Why… how… what…?"

Jean Valjean sat up straight.  "Cosette, you can see them too?"

"And I too," Marius added helpfully.  "Wha… Courfeyrac?  Enjorlas?  Grantaire?  What… you're all dead!  You died on the barricade!  I, I saw you!"

"So did I," Jean Valjean interjected.  "Have we all died?" 

Fantine pinched herself helpfully and yelped.  Loudly.  "No, we're alive… and Cosette!  You're married.  Who is this young man?"

"Marius.  Marius Pontmercy," Cosette informed her rather befuddledly.  "Who are you and why do you know my name?"

"I'm your mother, Fantine," Fantine explained gently.

"My mother?  I'm afraid I don't understand…." Cosette's blue eyes widened.  "Papa! Is this who you were telling me about before you died and then the man upstairs got robbed and all these people appeared in your room?"

Just then the revolutionaries, who seemed rather dazed and slumped over, seemed to awake.  And you could be sure they'd have strange reactions (which the authoress was rather counting on… *innocent grin*). 

The first was Jean Prouvaire.  "Is this heaven?"  He glanced around.  "It's sparser then I had imagined.  And, oh, hello Marius.  Did you die too?"

Marius shook his head.  "No… actually, you're still in Paris."

"But I could've sworn I'd died in front of that firing squad!  They shot me."

"I thought you were dead too…."

Jehan burst into tears.  "I was dead! The final, blissful sleep of oblivion was mine, as was the tragic fate of martyrdom!  And what of my poor flowers?  Did someone water them?" 

"Oh, dear!  By heab urts orribly.  Anb I'm still congested.  I mus be ill again," Joly declared soon after regaining consciousness.  He quickly pulled out a small mirror and began inspecting his tongue. "Lagle, oo I ook ick?"

Boussuet looked around in confusion.  "Weren't we dead? Well, I guess being alive is rather fortunate…."  He rubbed his bald head bemusedly.

"Wine-cask, off my feet.  I can't move."  Enjorlas vainly attempted to move Grantaire who was either unconscious or pretending to be.  Enjorlas shot him a glare that failed to move the drunkard.  

Courfeyrac rubbed his eyes and soon noticed Fantine.  "Ah, heaven.  It must be so, if I see angels such as yourself, _mademoiselle_."

"That's my mother- in- law Courfeyrac," Marius protested.  Cosette clutched Marius's shirt and began muttering something about divine intervention.   

"God, haven't I repented enough?"  Jean Valjean mused aloud.  "What did I do to deserve such punishment?" 

"Hunh.  I dreamed I died.  Or perhaps I'm dead.  Can one tell if one's dead?  Plato never said anything about it, but then of course Plato hadn't died when he wrote so he cannot be relied upon.  And if one is dead does one enter perfect civilization? Hmmmm…."  Combeferre was awake.  And musing.

"Am I in Poland?"  Feuilly asked hopefully.

Bahorel jumped to his feet and reached for his, missing, gun.  "Ha!  We will never surrender!  You miss- ah?  Where's the barricade?"  He quickly let loose a stream of, ah, very interesting adjectives that made Cosette gasp in surprise and Fantine look as if she wanted to slap him. 

"I swear it was the fault of-" Gavroche sang.  "'Ello?  Wasn't I shot?"

"I'm so glad we're all dead," Eponine continued.  "And thank you Monsieur Marius… oh, hello.  I was dead, or so I thought…."

"Wine-cask, off my feet.  You were not even remotely helpful in the revolution, by the way.  Now move!  Or are you as drunk as usual?"  Enjorlas attempted to stand up using the wall.

"I'm ill!  I'm drebfully ill!  I expect I'll die soon."  Joly pulled out a small medical dictionary and attempted to diagnose himself.

"We were all," and here Bahorel used a very interesting string of words that shall never be repeated as it offended everyone in the room, "dead, but somehow we're not.  Care to explain it good philosopher?"

Combeferre looked very puzzled.  "Or was it Socrates?  Jehan, do you remember?  I think it must've been Socrates, but it might've been a more recent philosopher…."

"So, my darling, what's your name?"  Courfeyrac, undaunted by the fact that he was now flirting with his old roommate's mother- in- law, inquired suavely.  "Mine is Courfeyrac."

"Who are you?"  Fantine asked.  She glanced at Marius, who was in a state of shock, and her daughter, who was now clutching her husband's cravat and was praying desperately.

"Let me die," Jean Valjean moaned in agony.  "All I wanted was a quiet death in my cold, empty garret… am I too much of a sinner to even be granted that?"

"Well, I swear, 'tis the fault of Voltaire," Gavroche began singing again.

"What?  Why aren't I dead?  I escaped from the world of- no, you're still alive 24601!" Javert stood up.  "I'm in hell for committing suicide.  I knew it.  It was against the law."

"Grantaire, move!  I need to get everyone quiet!"

"Has anyone seen my fan?  I wrote Poland on it…."  Feuilly began searching his pockets desperately.  

"Achoo!  Oh, no!  I'm dying again.  I'b sure I'b leaking brain lubricants!"  Joly flipped through his medical dictionary again. 

 Boussuet looked rather confused.  

"Monsieur Marius? Thanks for the kiss, by the way.  It was kind of you.  Thanks."  Eponine grinned at him.  Marius noticed she was missing several teeth.

"Marius, you kissed… and who… oh, dear.  I'm sorry.  Who are you?"  Cosette looked at Eponine.  "You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago…  Marius, what?"  She glanced at her husband, who seemed just as, if not more confused then Cosette.         

There was a sudden sound of maniacal laughter from the garret above them and the man screaming.  

"_Merde!  Vous, vous, vous tueur de classiques !  __Je__ déteste vous."**** _

"Someone is attacking literature!" Combeferre looked appalled at the very thought.  

"I hope it's not the Latin classics," Jehan muttered to himself, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief.  

"Men!  That man is in trouble!  As he is certainly a member of the republic as surely as you or I- get off my boot you lazy drunkard- and he deserves our help!"  Enjorlas had somehow managed to stand and was attempting to get to Jean Valjean's table, presumably so that he could stand on it and make inspirational songs regarding revolution and colors.  Grantaire was still fast asleep on Apollo's boot.  

"Stop!  This is a direct violation of the law!" Javert cried desperately.  "_La republique has been outlawed.  The monarchy reigns."_

"Bonaparte?"  Marius suggested, not wanting to have to leave his political views out of the discussion.  

"Is dead!"  Enjorlas thundered.  "As is the antiquated monarchy!"  Enjorlas shook his foot.  "Now let go of my boot, you fool."  Grantaire, rather surprisingly, woke up and rolled off Enjorlas's foot.  "The republic lives long after we are dead!"  Enjorlas cried, searching desperately for his nifty red flag. 

"Which we were supposed to be," Grantaire mused.  "Wasn't I shot by a firing squad?  Ah well, I suppose I had too much absinthe again."    

"_Zut alors," fumed the man in the garret upstairs.  Everyone fell silent as there came several sounds of banging doors and people thundering down the stairs._

"All I wanted was to die in peace," Valjean muttered, still rather put out that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to die currently.  He then felt very guilty for such thoughts and began praying.  

The door to Jean Valjean's apartment sung open and was slammed shut.  An elderly man with a full white beard was leaning against the door.  

"_Merde," he murmured to himself.  _

No one seemed to know what was going on.  And they all looked rather confused.  And in strange positions.  And because the authoress of this fic is a crazed _Les Mis fanatic on a sugar high, she will describe what each and every one of them was doing.  Enjorlas was in the middle of twisting around to look for a flag, while Grantaire was leaning on the table in a bit of stupor.  Javert, on the other side of the table, was attempting to arrest Enjorlas for disturbing the peace.  Cosette and Marius were still clinging to each other, looking quite confused and more then a little terrified.  Eponine, looking jealous, was sitting in a chair next to Marius.  Gavroche was standing in the middle of the room, stopped mid-verse.  Jean Valjean looked rather dead on his bed, and Fantine was standing next to the bed looking befuddled and rather put out by the fact that Courfeyrac was attempting to flirt with her.  Combeferre was by the table in the act of polishing his glasses, while Jehan, sitting next to the philosopher, was clutching his handkerchief.  Joly had been flipping through a dictionary, and Boussuet was looking rather tired.  Bahorel had been in the act of opening the window and shouting at the innocent passerby that their unwillingness to cooperate had cost them the revolution and that he would shoot them all as soon as he found a pistol.  And the poor elderly man in the black suit with a strange, starched white collar seemed to want to cry.         _

Valjean was the first to speak. "Well monsieur, are you all right?  We heard shouting from your garret.  Did someone steal your books?  And can we be of any help to you?"  

The man closed his eyes and reopened them.  Yep.  Same revolutionaries in same position.  Same newlyweds clinging to each other.  Same old man on a bed.  Same front-toothless mother looking rather confused.  Same crazed inspector trying to arrest insurgents.  Same gamin about to sing.  Same gamine looking sadly at the newlyweds.  

The man had no words.  Well, actually he did.  The authoress just thought that that was a nifty little phrase.  And the old man in the black suit had to take a minute to compose himself and collect his thoughts.  You see, he kept them in his pockets and he had a bunch of pockets in his suit.

"Oh, _merde_. It's happened."  _Hmmm_… the elderly man thought.  _I could have phrased that better.  And added some text about the __Battle__ of __Waterloo__ and the poor conditions of the city streets in __Paris__.  Not to mention mentioning some random minor characters that I will never use again.  Oh well.  Too late.  I can always include it in my new book._

"Excuse me, monsieur," Cosette inquired softly.  "But what's happened?"  

"Pardon my language, mademoiselle," the man apologized quickly.  "My name is Victor Hugo.  I am an author, of sorts.  I enjoy writing about the less fortunate of Paris and the government-"

"Corrupt monarchy!" Enjorlas shouted, simply because he was Enjorlas and that was the sort of thing fanatical revolutionaries who wore red vests did.  

Victor Hugo nodded.  "Well, yes.  And Louis Napoleon.  Such an odious fellow.  He made life _zut near impossible.  I had to flee to the isle of Jersey.  And then Guernsey.  _Vive la constitution_."_

Everyone in the room was mystified and/or incredibly confused at his words due to the fact that these events had not happened yet.         

"Ahem.  But I digress.  You see, after publishing several volumes of poetry, receiving several awards, and writing many satires as well, I decided to write something I called, '_Les Misérables_,' a story about the poor and terribly unfortunates living in France."

"Poetry?" Jehan questioned, looking interested.  

"Yes!  Poetry!  Giving words to the movement of the heart… and putting into words the feelings that encompass a man for a lifetime onto a single sheet… several sheets of paper.  Ah the power of words and the thirsty souls who greedily drink poetry until they are full of love and words!"  Monsieur Hugo looked rather pleased with himself.  "In school I won numerous awards and got many-"

Joly sneezed.  "I'm dying!  Please urry up so I can ear whab you ab to say before I die.  Painfully."

"Ah… sorry.  But you see, I wrote a novel focusing on the life of one Jean Valjean and how his life was changed the Bishop of Digne, who coincidentally is one of my more illustrious ancestors… no, wait, I made him up, but I can claim that in my book."

Valjean paled.  "H-how do you know about my life?  I regret some of the things I have done, but how did you find out so much about me?"

Monsieur Hugo tugged on his starched collar.  "Ah… it's because you aren't real."

*No!  Stop, miss!   What are you doing?

** D-mn it all!  It's my book!  I wrote it!  Don't touch it!  Stop! It's my… oof.

*** No… my God, leave my masterpiece… I worked hard on it... please… no!  Leave the quill on the desk.  No, don't write!  Nooooooooo! My masterpiece….

**** Sh-t!  You, you, you murderer of the classics!  I hate you. 


	2. Chapter One, Part Twoish

A/N:  This is the second half of the first chapter.  That is why the first section has no plot.  Then of course, I'm not sure this has plot either… ;-)  Just kidding.  I have a plot.  And I apologize for my bad French.  I'm only on Level Three, and I'm not very good.  It isn't in this chapter 'cause I don't wish to torment my poor readers any more then necessary.    

Disclaimer:  Me no own. You no known.  Victor Hugo own.  Hugo dead.  Me no own Hugo either.  But he's appearing here too.

Combeferre decided it was time for a philosophical debate.  "Come to that, could you not say we aren't real?  Perhaps this reality isn't real.  Perhaps all we see and touch are just figments of our imaginations.  But what about civilization?  Is it an idea that transcends all comprehension?"

"No, no, listen to me," Victor Hugo protested.  "This reality is not real because it is all a figment of my imagination.  You are fictional characters.  You actually do not exist.  In fact, I am probably drunk or sleeping right now and so can talk to you."

This was met with silence as no one could really understand this.  Well, what if you just found out you're a fictional character and some old guy who wrote down your entire life on pieces of paper thanks to his muses and intellectual mind?  

"So you control every aspect of our lives," Marius clarified.  

"Ah… yes."

After many vehement protests from Enjorlas about how no man ruled him but the spirit of _equality,_ Victor Hugo began explaining things.  "Look!  I can make years of your lives speed by when the action is dragging!  I can make you do odd things.  I AM AN AUTHOR!  FEAR ME!"

"Oh, yeah!  Prove it!"  Bahorel yelled, as Bahorel never really thought much about anything he did.

Tiredly, Victor Hugo picked up Jean Valjean's warped quill, dry inkpot, and a piece of parchment that had been Valjean's will.  And began scribbling furiously.  

"'And Enjorlas, the marble lover of liberty, jumped off the table and began to rouse the troops in his usual manner, encouraging them so that they saw the perfect castle in the air that he did.  He then decided to waltz around the room with Jehan.'"  

Enjorlas jumped off the table.  "Friends, comrades, citizens… listen!  Can you see liberty… hey!"  He was suddenly flung into Jehan and they began waltzing around the room.

"Help!" Jehan squeaked.  "Stop, stop!"

They halted just as suddenly as they had begun.  Enjorlas was furious.     _  _

Grantaire smiled.  "Ha.  That was funny.  Do it again.  You had the strangest facial expression Enjorlas."

"Shut up wine-cask!"

"Need more proof?  Here: 'And suddenly Marius, forsaking his magnificent day-dreams decided that life was a horrible wretched thing, and decided to mope about the futility of life.'"  Victor Hugo paused a moment to dip his quill in the ink.  "'And Feuilly declared he hated Poland.'"

"Life is horrible," Marius muttered as he sank dejectedly to the floor.  "What's the point of existence?  Day-dreaming is for, no!  Not going, argh!"  This seemed to cost him some effort to say.  And so he just fell over and sprawled on the floor.  

"Marius?" Cosette questioned, as Marius had not yet let go of her and she had fallen down as well.  "Can you let me go, _cherie_?  And darling, re-"

"I hate that stupid country, Poland!"  Feuilly exclaimed.  "Oh, no!  My poor Poland.  What have I done?"

Hugo sighed.  "See?  I control your lives.  Now listen.  Because you characters are so immensely popular, you all have taken on lives of your own.  In doing so, you are able to think independently for yourselves.  And my work is plagiarized by crazed teenagers sitting at laptops."  Hugo paused a moment.  "Wait… what's a laptop?"

"Plagiarism is against the law," Javert declared angrily.  "It is the same as stealing.  I will arrest such people!  It is my duty as an inspector."

"Calm down, calm down," Victor Hugo instructed them, momentarily forgetting about the laptop thing he had mentioned earlier.  "Listen, the people who plagiarize-"

"Steal and break the law."

"Just like my dad does," Eponine mused. "Only with ideas.  I didn't know you could steal ideas."

Hugo sighed.  "Yes.  Those people.  They 'steal my ideas' as Mademoiselle Eponine put it, and make it turn horribly, horribly wrong.  They make up things that never happen.  Usually it's not so bad… just elaboration on details of your lives that I didn't put in my books, but sometimes…."  Hugo shuddered.  

"Would you care to elaborate?" Combeferre asked, looking curious.  

"There are three things that authors subject you all, my masterpieces, to.  First is… OOC-less meaning Out Of Character.  Like… they make you, Enjorlas, decide not to stage a revolution after all because then you will never get a chance to paint a masterpiece, featuring puppies frolicking through a happy field of flowers.  Besides, you think that the king is a jolly nice chap and don't see why he should be knocked off his throne, and decide to become a nobleman again and marry."

Enjorlas nearly fell off his table.  "Not… want… revolution… flowers?"  He was vaguely articulate and seemed rather shocked.  "I… this… This is an outrage!  Vive la revolution!"

"What's wrong with walking through fields of flowers?" Jehan, looking rather offended, wanted to know.  

"Ha!  The mighty Enjorlas, leader of the revolution, a noble!  And the misogynist married at that!" Courfeyrac nearly doubled over with laughter, as did most of the others, if they were still not too shocked to do anything but stare dumbly at Victor Hugo and be…uh… shocked.  

"Yes, slightly humorous, but sometimes rather stupid.  Like you all have one dominant trait and don't deem to have any others."  (The authoress of this fic proudly consumes several bottles of soda, as she has just found a way to mock herself in her own fic.  Hehehe.  Sugar is fun.)  "Another version of OOC-ness.  And then there are the mentally disturbed people who enjoy strange pairings."

"I'm afraid to ask," Grantaire muttered.  "Perhaps the green fairy will ask for me…."  

"Fine, then.  Monsieur, what d'you mean by strange pairings?  Is it like a dove and a turtle getting married?  It's all the fault of Vol-" Gavroche was cut off abruptly as there was a sudden loud pounding on the door.

"_Zut alors," Hugo swore.  "They've found us!  Help me keep the door closed."_

"Build a barricade!"  Enjorlas instructed, quite recovered from Hugo's disturbing story of him.  

"Long live Poland!" Feuilly yelled, and quickly dragged the table Enjorlas happened to be sitting on in front of the door, along with Grantaire, who was too hung-over to let go of the table.

"That is against the law!"  Javert protested. 

"Oh!  Wine!"  Grantaire whispered happily, having found a bottle of wine in one of Jean Valjean's cabinets while Enjorlas was busy building a barricade. 

"Marius, _cherie_, try to sit up now.  I think everyone's gone crazy and will attempt to run over us soon," Cosette urged, though she made no move to free herself from her husband's embrace. 

"God on high… hear my prayer…" Valjean murmured.  "I don't want to walk through the sewers of Paris again…."

"Why are we barricading the door?"  Fantine questioned, sitting on the end of Valjean's bed so that Bahorel couldn't move it.

"Well… here we go… agaib," Joly sighed.

"It won't be as bad as the first time!" Bousset enthused cheerfully. 

"Little boy, what are you doing with my water pitcher?" Valjean asked wearily.

"It's needed for the revolution, monsieur!  I can draw you up a receipt if you like," Gavroche offered as he stuck the pitcher neatly on top of the table.  Victor Hugo, sadly, was trapped between the table and the door.

"Air!" the world-renown author gasped. "Hard… to… breathe…."

"Oh, sorry!" Jehan, with help from Combefrerre, who was still muttering about all the thesises he'd read about the likely-hood of an author creating up their lives and how, if he were an author he'd fix some of the things in his novel such as a utopia created by non-violent revolution, moved the table.  

"Quiet!" Enjorlas roared, looking rather scary.  Everyone fell silent but Gavroche, who was singing 'Little People' under his breath.  Victor Hugo calmly extracted himself from behind the table and the people on the other side of the door ceased banging on the door.  

"Get away from here!  You shame the republic," Enjorlas growled at the people behind the door.  "Just like Grantaire."  For good measure he fixed his patented Glare O' Death ® at the door.  The people on the other side screamed and ran away.  

"Now," Enjorlas continued calmly.  "Unusual pairings?"

Hugo took a deep breath.  "Some insane individuals with perverted minds-"

Everyone glanced at Courfeyrac, who pretended not to notice.

"Decided to mess around with the characters of my masterpiece and stick them into absurd relationships with each other.  Like… Javert, you once fell in love with Cosette.  And in another, with Eponine."

Cosette looked as if she would be ill.  Eponine didn't look very well either.  Valjean looked even more murderous then one could deem possible in a paragon of virtue.  Javert looked as if he was going to arrest everything in sight whether it was living or not.  

"And then there's the 'slash' or pairings of two characters of the same gender.  Some of it I don't mind.  It's actually plausible in my books.  But others…."  Victor Hugo shuddered.  "Want to know some of them?  Hmmm… a popular one is Grantaire and Enjorlas."

Grantaire looked rather surprised, but didn't seem to mind.  He actually looked rather pleased.  Then of course, he had just managed to open his bottle of wine….  Enjorlas shot Courfeyrac (who looked as if he was about to crack a rib from attempting not to laugh) the famous patented Glare O' Death ®.

"And Joly and L'Aigle, Valjean and Javert, Enjorlas and Joly, Enjorlas and Combeferre, Enjorlas and Courfeyrac, Eponine and Cosette, Enjorlas and Eponine, Bahorel and Jehan, Jehan and Joly, and Enjorlas and Javert."

"What is this brainless fascination with me and everyone in L'Amis D'ABC?!"  Enjorlas looked murderous.  He even directed his patented Glare O' Death ® at Victor Hugo.  

"I… 24601… love!"  Javert spluttered indignantly.  

"Why won't you just let me die?"  Jean Valjean muttered.

"Eponine Thenardier from when I was eight?" Cosette asked in perplexity.  

"I'm straight!" Courfeyrac protested indignantly.  "All the grisettes love me!"

"Why do I have only one pairing?" Bahorel demanded, looking rather offended.

"Quiet down, _mes amis_, quiet, quiet.  Cease your lamentable ranting and listen!"  Victor Hugo looked downright annoyed.

The crowd fell silent, while the golden Fearless Leader of the Revolution still grumbled to himself.

"That isn't all the pairings.  For example, there's Marius and Enjorlas."

"But I'm married!" Marius protested.

"Yes, yes.  That is why, in certain cases, I hate the so-called 'authors' who destroy my work."  Hugo sighed.  "There is every possible pairing you can think of and then some.  It usually follows along OOC-ness.  But the most horrid, cruel thing people have done with my work is… the Marie- Suzette."  

The group gasped.

"What's a, uh… Marie- Suzette?" Jehan asked timidly.

Hugo sat down on Enjorlas's table.  "A Marie- Suzette is a perfect character.  She is someone completely unbelievable, without any flaws at all.  They have what is termed as… hmm, what was it?  Oh yes, 'free lunch'.  They can do things perfectly without ever having to try.  They are amazingly beautiful, and can win the hearts of any male (and sometimes female) who so much as glances at them. And they completely mess up my wonderful novel!  They also cause OOC-ness and unusual pairings.  And sometimes OOC-ness turns a character into a Marie- Suzette!  Mostly it happens to Eponine though.  And she usually falls in love with Enjorlas.  Or never really died and marries Marius.  And Cosette mysteriously disappears."

"But I love Cosette!"  Marius complained, hugging his wife tightly.  Cosette looked as if she was having some difficulty breathing.

Eponine scowled.  "I know." 

"But… I thought that the Thenardiers…" Cosette asked as soon as she was able to breathe again.  No one had ever bothered to tell her anything.

"Moved to Paris and formed a gang. You and Valjean went to visit them once.  You comforted Azelma.  Remember?"  Hugo rubbed his eyes.  "Ah.  I think I forgot to write in the part of the story when your husband and father actually told you much of what was going on."  

"Oh!  Hello Eponine!"  Cosette greeted the gamine.  Cosette seemed rather surprised.  

Eponine bobbed her head.  "Bonjour."

"If we are alive again, we must revolt again," Enjorlas snapped impatiently.  "What grander purpose is there then revolution?"

"Not revolution, but civilization," Combeferre corrected.

"No, revolution is against the law," Javert repeated.  "It is treason."

"Revolution?" Fantine asked.  "Why this obsession with revolution?  There are better things in life to think about."

"Like wine," Grantaire added helpfully, drinking from the bottle.  "As the Romans and the Greeks have said to Bacchus-"

"Yes, yes, but please be quiet and listen to a full paragraph," Victor Hugo interrupted quickly, knowing how he created Grantaire to have page long rants full of classical allusions and brought on by nothing in particular.  "These Marie- Suzettes can do all sorts of things, including, apparently, time-travel, and change the events of the revolution.  And sometimes the authors write unending angst about all of your deaths, and how your girlfriends, sisters, and significant others…also known as Marie- Suzettes... are increasingly depressed over your deaths and have to get over them.  But I'm telling all this to warn you.  Because the worst has happened."

"Which is?" Grantaire prompted, after a moment of staring at the ceiling.  That was where the green Absinthe faeries, which sometimes went about as spit-wads, usually were.    

"The authoresses have stolen my book, and the copyright, and they are going to write more horrible fan-fiction about you!  And there isn't a thing I can do to stop it because I'm just a famous, brilliant, highly-acclaimed… dead French author."

There was a collective gasp. 

"You're… dead?"  Gavroche asked.  He quickly walked over to Victor Hugo and kicked him in the shin.  Not surprisingly, the author began hopping up and down on one leg and swearing in unintelligible French (partly because the authoress doesn't know any French swear words but '_merde_' and '_zut,' partly because she doesn't approve of swearing in English and doesn't know about French, but she supposes that's okay.  Now… back to the story!).  _

"Hunh… you seem alive to me!"  Gavroche exclaimed rather too cheerfully for Monsieur Hugo's liking.  

"Well… technically, every one of you but Marius and Cosette are supposed to be dead too."

"Hmmm.  Good point," Combeferre muttered distractedly.  

"But the only way to stop them is to get the copyright back from those girls who stole my copyright!  And that will prove rather difficult…."

"So?"  Bahorel scowled.  "Why do we care?"

"I wouldn't mind meeting these… beautiful, I think you said… Marie-Suzettes," Courfeyrac assured Hugo hurriedly.  

"Shouldn't we be rebelling against the corrupt government instead?"  Enjorlas demanded an impatient bite to his tone.  

"It don't affect me a bit, though," Gavroche chirped cheerfully.  Grantaire patted the gamin on the head absently.

 "Monsieur Marius fell in love with me, you said?  This OOC-ness thing doesn't sound quite so bad…" Eponine rationalized. 

"I don't think it's all bad either, if Cosette doesn't get married," Valjean muttered.

"Papa!  We wanted you to come live with us in Monsieur Gillenormand's house with us.  You didn't have to stay in this awful garret," Cosette protested.  "And I love Marius.  And I love you too, Papa."  She glanced at her mother.  "And… you Maman can come with us too, if you want… and if you still aren't dead…."

"I'm sorry for trying to keep you away from Cosette," Marius apologized quickly.  "It was wrong of me.  Besides, you saved my life!" 

"So did I," Eponine muttered.

"Ah…thank you then, for saving my husband's life," Cosette murmured, looking rather confused.  "Marius, how many times were you rescued at the barricade again?"  

Victor Hugo looked rather old and tired.  "Create characters, publish a book, and try to inform the world of the horrid social situations in Paris, and this is what you get?  A bunch of complaining revolutionaries!"

"I am not a revolutionary," Javert announced.  "That is against the law."

"Down with the law, then!"  Enjorlas shouted.

"Yes, oh Fearless Leader.  Tell me then… is murder legal?"  Grantaire had happily finished off half the bottle of wine.  

"Commune with your green faeries, wine-cask!  Or drown yourself in absinthe, you fool.  You are incapable of helping our revolution at all."

"There isn't any absinthe here, though," Combeferre pointed out vaguely.  "But I assume Monsieur Hugo could write some in and then it would appear.  Couldn't you?"

"_Mon Dieu," the aforementioned author exclaimed.  "Listen to me one moment!  I AM THE AUTHOR!"  _

They all fell silent, except Gavroche, who had launched into his song about Voltaire again.  

"Do you, Marius want Cosette, whom you love with all your heart to become different from the girl you wooed in her garden in Rue Plumet?"

Marius shook his head, and softly hugged his wife, who smiled up at him.

"Or do you, Feuilly, want to abandon Poland?"

"No!  Not Poland!"  Feuilly affirmed.  

"Enjorlas… do you want to fall in love with pretty girls named 'Patrica' because I randomly decided to have you mumble that name in the barricade, and therefore forsake your revolution?"

"Never!" Enjorlas yelled.  He climbed up on the table and looked as if he were about to make another speech.  Hugo quickly continued on.

"Uh… Javert, do you want to be kept from committing suicide because a teenager from the twenty-first century wanted to stick themselves into the story and therefore prevented you from jumping off that bridge?"

Javert thought a moment about this.  "No."

"Fantine… well, actually I have very few complaints about any stories I've seen with you….  Um, Bahorel!  Oh, no… not many stories about you either.  Uh…."

Bahorel looked furious.  "Why aren't there many stories about me?  I say we go and kill all the authoresses and smash their ink-pots and quills underfoot!"

Hugo looked somewhat relieved.  "Okay.  So you'll help me?"

"It's what God wishes me to do, or so I think," Valjean muttered.  "All right."

"Down with the tyrannical authoresses!" Enjorlas exclaimed.  

"Aye!" the other revolutionaries agreed, a tad less enthusiastically.  

"I suppose I could help…" Fantine murmured.  "It'll give me time to get to know Cosette and her husband."

"If Monsieur Marius is going, I'll go," Eponine offered quietly.

"The authoresses have broken the law and must be punished through 19 years of hard labor in Toulon," Javert added, pulling out a box of snuff.  Evidentially, he was pleased with himself.  

"Good.  We're agreed."  Hugo looked very pleased with himself.  "Ah, Hugo you genius!  You are, without doubt, the greatest man who's ever lived!"

The characters stared at him oddly.  

"Hmm. I said that out loud didn't I?"  

"_Oui__ monsieur!" Gavroche chirped cheerfully.    _

"Ah.  Weeeellll… since you're canon characters and have been warned, you can now recognize Marie-Suzettes, OOC-ness, and strange pairings.  Be on the look-out for these things, and above all else… find my copyright!"  With that, Victor Hugo calmly opened the door and walked away.  

"I wonber ib that's sabe," Joly mused.  It apparently wasn't, as the famous (and deceased) French author was quickly mobbed by the girls lurking in the hallway.

"Uh… after him?" Javert suggested, looking very confused.  

"Might as well," Valjean agreed.  "We did say we'd help him."

"We'll regret that later," Grantaire predicted ominously.


	3. Chapter Two and stuff

A/N:  Hey!  Wanna be in my insane fic and torture your favorite character?  Just write me a little review telling me which character you wish to annoy, and how.  Though I don't know why anyone would *want* to be featured in a product of my insanity…. 

Disclaimer:  See other chapters.  I'm too lazy to type it out.

Enjolras (A/N:  Thank you Celia Carlton and sweet775 ;-)) dutifully led the Amis D'ABC out into the hallway, quickly followed by everyone else but Jean Valjean, who was still attempting to lift himself out of bed, and Fantine, Marius, and Cosette, who were trying to help him but not succeeding.  The door swung shut and locked behind Feuilly, who was the last person out and, consequently, spent a lot of time attempting to re-open the door by jiggling the handle, and muttering about how there wouldn't be any problems if they had used Polish door-knobs.  

"It's ENJOLRAS!" a crazed girl in a shirt saying 'I HEART ENJOLRAS!' screamed.

"What?" the aforementioned revolutionary asked.

"ENJOLRAS!" several girls yelled, and they quickly launched themselves at Enjolras until he fell over.

"Quick, we've got him!"   

"Tie him up; we need him to fall in love with Marie-Suzettes!"

"My Marie-Suzette first!"  

"No… mine!"

"You have yet to meet Feuilly's long lost sister!"

"I need to set up you and Grantaire!"

"No!  Combeferre!"

"You're both wrong.  It needs to be Jehan."

"Help… me…." Enjolras gasped, slowly disappeared underneath the large mob of fan-girls.

"Um, please move?" Jehan squeaked, looking nervous.

"JEHAN!" another girl screamed, and launched herself at him.  

"No!"  Jehan shrieked.  He ran back to Valjean's room, but the girl caught up with him.  

"I love you and want you to marry my Marie-Suzette, Amarante Rougemont, who has eyes of compassionate turquoise, and hair of lustrous copper." The girl clung determinedly to the poet's leg and wouldn't let go.

"No!  I.  Don't. Want. To. Marry.  Marie-Suzette," Jehan protested.  "Bahorel, help me!"

"Why am I not being mobbed by fan-girls?" he demanded sulkily.  "Someone's going to pay for this!"  He picked up a carbine and whacked at the head of the nearest fan-girl, who was clinging to Javert's legs and murmuring something about Selene de Courfeyrac… a groundbreaking woman scientist who would save Javert from jumping off a bridge.

"Cease and desist!"  Javert snapped impatiently.  Then Bahorel rendered her unconscious.  "Ah… thank you."

"Javert!  Marry meeeeeeeee!" screamed another girl.  "My character isn't a Marie Suzette, I promise!  It's because her name is actually Marguerite Beaumont, not Mary Sue, or Marie-Suzette!"

"Jehan!" screamed a girl with a large manuscript. "My character, Marie-Elisabeth-Rochelle Feuilly is not only Feuilly's sister, but she has a gift for poetry and is a vampire slayer!" 

"Hmmm… the green faerie doesn't like you much," Grantaire observed drunkenly before hitting the authoress hanging on Jehan's waistcoat with his (empty) bottle of wine.

"Grantaire! Monique Decelle's eyes of scintillating obsidian have lighted upon you!  Fall in love with her!" So snarled a tall authoress holding a riding crop. 

"Patria de La Fayette, a girl with shimmering sunrise gold colored hair and devastating topaz eyes needs you, Enjolras!" A girl with an Eponine hat informed Enjolras.

"Can't breathe…" Enjolras gasped muffledly.

"Eponine, Eponine!  My Gary-Stu in is need of help!  He's Marius's younger, long lost brother, and has passionate indigo eyes and bears a striking resemblance to Orlando Bloom as Legolas!"

"But I love Marius," Eponine protested, as another girl began flinging papers at her.  

"Doesn't matter!  Marius is married." The girl with the Gary-Stu informed Eponine.

"No!  He can't be!"  Yelled another fan-girl.

"Quick!  Make an Eppie- Sue!" commanded the girl with the "I HEART ENJORLAS" t-shirt.  "We can't let Marius be happy with Cosette.  Cosette that," and here occurs a string of words that really shouldn't have be used to describe Cosette, "who stole Eponine's man!"  

"What?" Eponine looked confused.  "I agree with the feeling, but I'm… dead…."

"Not if we have anything to do with it," a girl clutching a bottle of delicious Vanilla Coke™ informed her.  "WE are authoresses and can mess up Hugo's work however we like it."

"Like, we can, like, screw up your character and make any random male character, like, totally fall in love with you even though, like, that old dude… like… I think his name was, like Hugo, or whatever, made you out to be, like, insane and like, toothless!" proclaimed a girl in a pink sweat-shirt.     

"_Mon Dieu," Combeferre sighed, attempted to push away a girl with short hair.  "No, I do not wish to meet, the saucy grisette Belle whose glittering lavender eyes will be sure to captivate and whose musical laugh will transport me to new levels of delight.  Now give me back my glasses and let go of my cravat, please."_

"Ladies, ladies," Courfeyrac interrupted smoothly.  "There's plenty of me to go around!  I have time to meet every gypsy foundling, flirtatious waitress, and brilliant authoress around.  Same goes for every spunky adolescent, practicing Ninja, and foreign heiresses!"  Fan-girls clung to Courfeyrac's arms, staring up at him adoringly.  Courfeyrac was not displeased, to say the least.

"What!  Still no Marie-Suzettes for me?"  Bahorel wanted to know, looking very offended.  "I hate you all."  He banged the girl with the riding whip on the head with his carbine, and shoved her into the girl in the pink sweat-shirt.

"You people must belong to the insane asylum down the road," Gavroche informed the authoresses cheerfully.  

"Aren't you just the cutest gamin ever!" cooed a girl wearing several long and gaudy necklaces.  "My Marie- Suzette, Ceciliane Vavasseur, a kind-hearted prostitute who can time-travel and has a long streak of white hair in her tousled auburn hair should adopt you!"

Gavroche, still very cheerfully, kicked the authoress in the shins.  "That necklace is needed for the revolution.  No receipts, sorry."  Gavroche quickly stole a long multi-colored beaded necklace off the authoress.  

"Meet Musichetta Papillion, your mistress, Joly!  She's actually a gypsy foundling and Javert's long-lost illegitimate daughter." 

"Noooooo!  Not Musichetta!  They'b gone ab turbed her inbo ab Eppie-Sue!" Joly wailed.  "Laigle, back to the room!"

"The brilliant cerulean-eyed Ghislaine Glorieux wants to help correct your luck," a fan-girl with a large purse snapped.  "Let her correct your luck and drive all thoughts of Musichetta and Joly out of your mind, or else I'll hit you with my purse."

"Maybe today isn't my lucky day," Bossuet muttered, attempting to head back to the room.

"Angelique Perrault is from Poland, Feuilly," a girl carrying a cheap plastic fan cried desperately.  "She's a famous soprano gifted with breath-taking eloquence!"

"Mrph," said Feuilly, as he was coved in fan-girls talking about all of his sisters.  

"Marie-Henrietta Bonnefemme wants to drive Musichetta to the very recesses of your heart, Joly!"

"Quick!" Joly yelled, for a moment forgetting the fact that his sinuses were blocked up.  "To the room!  Retreat!"  

Everyone fell silent and gasped.  

"Oh… no…OOC-ness…" Joly whispered.  "I'b going to be ill." 

"The green faeries are very angry at you now," Grantaire slurred.

Enjolras, taking advantage of the momentary distraction, yelled, "Back to the room!  Barricade yourselves in!"

The students rushed to the doors.

********************************************************************************************

Meanwhile, Marius, Cosette, Fantine, and Jean Valjean, after hearing the squealing fan-girls, had decided it would be safer to just stay in the room and get to know each other better.

"What do you do for a living, young man?" Fantine asked.

"Well, I'm a lawyer, but Cosette and I live very comfortably off her dowry and the money my aunt, who has left me a small fortune, has willed to us." Marius held Cosette's hand.  Valjean frowned slightly upon seeing this.

"Maman, Marius and I live in his grandfather, Monsieur Gillernormand's home, too," Cosette added helpfully.

"Hmmm.  I see.  Plan on having grandchildren soon?"

"Maman!"  Cosette cried, looking shocked.

Marius blushed.  "Ummmm…."

"If so, do you plan on ruthlessly abandoning my daughter after the birth of my first grandchild, leaving her to try and raise the child on her own or leave the child with a bunch of ruthless innkeepers while looking for a job?"

"Uhhhh…." Marius said.  He was utterly confused.  "No?"

"Maman!"  Cosette cried, still being shocked.  "We're married!  We just were last month."

"I'm not sure they know enough to have children yet," Valjean whispered as an aside to Fantine.  

"Father!" Cosette wailed, now more shocked then before, and blushing.

Marius looked as if he had sun-burned his face.  "Oh, dear."  

"Fine, darling, we'll move on.  Do you have any plans for the future besides the money you have?" Fantine seemed intent on interrogating Marius until he melted into a puddle of goop on the floor. 

Marius, whose blush was residing, was stumped at this.  "Madame, I'm afraid I don't understand what you're trying to ask."

"Don't worry.  I don't know either," Fantine reassured him.  "It's the crazy authoress under the influence of delicious Vanilla Coke™ talking.  Wait…."

"Help!" hollered Enjolras desperately.  "Let us in!"     

"What," Valjean wanted to know, "is going on out there?"

"Marius! You and Cosette shouldn't've gotten hitched, 'cause you should've hooked up with ma home-girl, Eponine!" yelled one of the fan-girls on the other side of the door.  "Cosette, you suck!"

"Ummm…" Cosette said, looking puzzled.  "I'm afraid I didn't understand what that person was trying to say.  Did you, Marius?"

"Sorry my darling.  I think it was supposed to be an insult of some sort."

"Help!  No, please let go of my cravat," Jehan begged.  "Help!"

"No fan-girls still?  I'll teach you not to forget Bahorel!"  There were sounds of people being knocked unconscious with a carbine.  

"Perhaps we should let the revolutionaries in?" Valjean suggested puzzledly.  "I would, but Fantine is sitting on my legs and I couldn't move to begin with."

"Oh!  Right," Marius said.  He moved over to the door and cracked it open.  

"I'b ill!" Joly exclaimed as he slid through the crack in the door,

"Ow, I hit my head," Bossuet muttered and he slipped in too.

"They're getting away!" an authoress shrieked.  "Quick, now!"

There was a sudden bang and a cloud of purple smoke enveloped the room.  

When it cleared, everyone was gone.  Well, almost everyone….

"Marius?"  Cosette called out worriedly, glancing around the room.  "Marius, where are you?"

Fantine stood up and went to the door.  "Everyone seems to have vanished but us three and-"

"Me," Bahorel said glumly.  He pushed past Fantine to sit dejectedly in the chair Eponine had previously been occupying.   

"I wonder if God has moved us to punish us for our sins," Valjean mused aloud.

"Papa, God isn't punishing us for our sins," Cosette consoled him, still attempting to figure out where her husband had gone.         

"It's those f-" Bahorel stared, looking mutinous.  Fantine gave him a long look.  "Ah… darn authoresses.  They took all the characters they liked writing about, and left us here."

"Oh," Fantine muttered.  "Well, at least we're all together still."

"Marius is gone though," Cosette whispered, looking heart-broken.

"Cheer up, Cosette," Valjean urged her.  "We said we'd help that Victor Hugo person, didn't we?  And by finding everyone else, we'll be sure to find the authors and the copy-right.  God help us all."

Fantine nodded.  "Makes sense to me.  But where will we look first?"

"Shoulda killed 'em all when I had the chance," Bahorel fumed quietly.  

"Monsieur Hugo said something about reliving deaths," Cosette murmured.

"So… we go to the barricade," Valjean elaborated.

"And the bridge that horrid Inspector jumped off of," Fantine spat.  "Thanks again, _Monsieur le maire, for getting me away from that crazed policeman."_

Valjean inclined his head.  "Any time."

"I died at the barricade too, you know," Bahorel raged.  

"Where is the barricade, then, papa?" Cosette wanted to know, as she tapped a finger to her bottom lip.  "Or Monsieur Bahorel, do you know?"

"Hunh?  Oh, la Rue de Mondétour, in fount of the Corinth," Bahorel muttered.  "And to think… I even went to that demmed funeral too.  And I tore up those paving stones.  That was a good barricade if I do say so."

"There still is the fact that I don't have the strength to move," Valjean added reluctantly.  "I can't even lift myself out of bed."

"I could try carrying you," Fantine offered, examining Valjean's weight.  "No, never mind.  You're taller then I am monsieur."

"Monsieur Bahorel?" Cosette inquired hopefully.  "Could you help my father up?"

"All those paving stones," Bahorel seethed.  "What?"

Cosette looked around the room despairingly, but suddenly spotted a wheelchair in the middle of the room.  "Well, that was convenient," she thought aloud.  

"A wheelchair?"  Fantine scratched her head.  "_Cher__ Dieu, this is getting stranger and stranger.  Perhaps we should've just stayed in Montreuil- sur- mer.  It would've been much simpler."_

"That's cannon inaccuracy," Valjean reminded her.  "One of the things God wants us to stop."

"Or at least, Monsieur Hugo," Cosette corrected him… wheeling the, ah… wheel chair over to her adoptive father's bedside.  

Fantine smiled.  "So, Monsieur Bahorel, coming with us?"  

"What?  I suppose."  He glared out into the street.  "No one's getting away with forgetting Bahorel!"  

"Then can someone help me into the wheelchair?" Valjean asked pointedly, as it was rather difficult for Cosette, who was floundering under Valjean's weight, to lift him into the wheelchair.  Unfortunately, she dropped him on the floor which was not unexpected.  

"I think I broke my hip," Valjean groaned.  

"Let me help," Bahorel offered, easily picking up Valjean and plunking him into the wheel chair.  

"Ow, my spleen," Valjean moaned.  "I might need a delicious Vanilla Coke ™ to fix that.  Or God could just be torturing me because of the sinner I am."

"Papa…." Cosette admonished wearily.  "Not every thing that happens to us is a result of God wanting to punish you for your sins!"

"It might be a good idea to built a barricade and tear the stones off the street," Bahorel pondered.  He was fond of tearing up stones from the street to build barricades.    

"And off we go," Fantine sighed.  "God help us all."


	4. Chapter Three with a reviewer

A/N:  'Cause sweet775 reviewed first, she appears here.  Then there's eeeeeeveryone else.  Review and you and your Mary- Sue'll still get a happy chappie, as the Mary-Sue generator at The Les Mis Fan-Fiction Index can only take so much!  Yaaaay for sugary snacks!  

Disclaimer:  Would Victor Hugo seriously write something like this?  If you said 'no', you correctly guessed that I'm just an insane high-school student not studying for her exams.  If you answered 'yes', the angels weep for you (this line belongs to 'My Fair Lady', not me, by the way).  And Victor Hugo weeps for you too.  

"Ow!  My tibia!" Valjean shouted.

"Sorry," Cosette apologized.  "I'm not quite sure how to operate this wheelchair.  Maman, will you help?"

"But of course," Fantine agreed, replacing her daughter.  

"Ow! My olfactory senses," Valjean moaned.  

"How did we hurt that?"  Cosette asked in surprise.   "Your nose seems perfectly fine to me."  

"I don't know," Valjean confessed, looking confused.  "I think it's because the authoress likes the word 'olfactory'."

"Authoress?" Cosette questioned, positively puzzled.  

"Oh, look!  A barricade!"  Bahorel exclaimed enthusiastically.  "I like barricades!  It's great fun to tear up paving stones from the street."    

"Barricade?"  Fantine wanted to know.  "What's that doing in the middle of the street?"

"Death poetry, most likely," Bahorel grumbled.  "And do I get any death poetry?  Noooooooo.  They always have to write about how Jehan faced the firing squad, or how Enjolras and Grantaire were shot together inside the Corinth, or how that stupid gamine Eponine got shot for bloody Marius.  Never anything about me!"

"Don't insult my husband," Cosette admonished, shocked that any one would insult her beloved Marius.

"Hush a moment," Fantine scolded them.  "I think I hear someone dying a second time."

"Vive la rep- wait a moment!  I'm dead already! I can't die ag-" There was a loud bang.  

"Oh, _merde_," Jehan swore.  Apparently he was dead again.  

"Well, I suppose he could die…"

"Vive la re- but I just died!"  Another bang.  

"Make up your mind," Jehan sighed.  Bang.

Jean Prouvaire sent an annoyed glance up at the sky.  "Your interpretation of my thoughts is completely erroneous."  Yet another bang.

"This is awfully repetitive."  Bang.

"I'm too annoyed to compose poetry.  I refuse to recite death poetry about this… Desirée Enjolras."  Bang, bang, bang.

"Apparently he's dying several times," Fantine murmured, voicing what they had all, with more swearing on Bahorel's part, thought.  

"Hmm.  I guess I'm not the only one who's having trouble dying."  Valjean looked slightly pleased with this.  

"A pox on all of your houses," the poet in front of the firing squad snapped.  "You shame the new Republic, failure of an authoress."  Bang.

"He's still not dead," Bahorel pointed out.  "And not reciting his lovely death poetry.  Whereas, if I were reciting death poetry, I'd recite it all and then bash in the heads of some National guardsmen."  

"That's lovely _merde_, really," Fantine snarled.  "But perhaps we should help Jehan."  

"Maman!" Cosette scolded, shocked again.  "Don't swear!"

Valjean sighed and decided he'd just fall asleep, leaving his companions to squabble and Jehan to be shot multiple times.  

"This is an insult to poetry," the poet lamented.  Bang.

"I'm ashamed to call myself a poet, madame, while you insist on calling yourself one, and trying to pass off this horrid dribble as poetry."  Bang.  

"I KNOW THAT MY FRIENDS HAVE SHOT ME AS WELL!"  Javert screamed from inside the barricade.  "I'LL ARREST YOU ALL IF YOU DON'T BE QUIET AND LET THAT POET DIE LIKE THE DEMMED AUTHORESS WANTS!"  

"We're just trying to stick to cannon," Combeferre protested.  "It'd be much worse if we tried what Jehan's doing."

"I don't want to recite the poetry!"  Jehan wailed.  Bang.  

"Why am I not in the barricade?"  Bahorel growled, looking absolutely livid. 

"Is there some way to stop the National Guard to stop?"  Fantine wondered aloud.  "We should try and save this poet fellow."

"I wonder where Marius is," Cosette murmured.  

"No, no, no!  I'm going to run away if you try to make me be in love with Enjolras's sister!"  Jehan bawled.  Bang, bang, bang.  

"JUST THINK THE POETRY ABOUT MY MARIE-SUZ… I MEAN, MY ORIGIONAL CHARACTER!" boomed one of the clouds.  

"No!  You're corrupting the reason why I died and forcing me to think about a, a…"

"Marie- Suzette?" Courfeyrac called out helpfully from the top of the barricade.  

"Yes!  A Marie-Suzette!  No female in Paris has ever become a member of L'Amis D'ABC due to nepotism.  And I wouldn't fall in love with a woman after she said 'bonjour' to me and because of the way her chestnut hair falls like a waterfall upon her shoulders…."  Jehan paused.  "Isn't the style of the times to have the hair done up in overly elaborate curls? Or at least fancy hats, or something."

"Wait a moment, Jehan," Combeferre yelled, climbing to the top of the barricade.  "What else is the authoress trying to do?"  

"SHUT UP AND THINK IN POETRY!" the cloud roared.  

"She mentioned the fact that we would be featured in strange parodies," Jehan shouted.  

"Should we shoot him?" a National Guardsman inquired, looking very confused.

"I don't know," another National Guardsman admitted, lowering his carbine.  "I think God's talking to him, like Jean D'Arc.  We shouldn't shoot a saint, should we?"

"But he's arguing with God," pointed out yet another National Guardsman.  

"No, he said it was an authoress, not God.  So he's not arguing with God, therefore he's not talking to God, and, therefore, he's not a saint," protested a National Guardsman with a large mustache.

"Maybe 'Authoress' is the name of one of the saints," the second National Guardsman said.

"Yeah.  Besides, Jean D'Arc spoke to saints, not God," added the first national guardsmen.  

"No!  She spoke to God you simpleton!" the second National Guardsman snapped.

"Simpleton!  That's mean!  I'll shoot you with my carbine if you don't take that back."

"No you won't!  We have to shoot the prisoner first."

"Yes, but he might be a saint," interjected the third National Guardsmen.

"No he's not!  We already determined that he's not talking to God, ergo he's not a saint!"  The National Guardsmen with the moustache retorted.

"You and your fancy scientific vocabulary!  You can't just accept a fellow's beliefs, can you?"  

All of the National Guardsmen managed to get into a fistfight, especially if the original argument didn't concern them at all. 

"Uh…."  Fantine said.  "No, don't do that.  Why are you getting into a fistfight?  Stop it!  This is bringing up repressed memories…."  

"See!  I could have caused a humongous fistfight like this if only authoresses would give me a chance!"  Bahorel was sulking again.

"I wonder if the authoress will ever just let Monsieur Prouvaire go… this seems a bit too much trouble for a single poem," Cosette mused.  "And I wonder what this one has done with Marius." 

"FALL IN LOVE ALREADY!"  

"Oh God, no," Jehan snapped.  "I refuse to fall in love with a Marie Suzette!  No one falls in love after a single glance!"  

Cosette flushed and quickly looked elsewhere.  

Fantine glanced at her daughter oddly, but said nothing.  

"No! Help me!"  Enjolras gasped, bursting out of the Corinth.  "The Marie- Suzettes are so one-dimensional..."

"SQUEEEEEE!" the cloud, uh… squeed.  Microsoft Word doesn't seem to think that 'squeed' is a real word.  Hunh.   

"Oh, no," Enjolras muttered.  "This day is getting worse and worse…."

"I LOVE YOU ENJOLRAS!"  The cloud immediately zoomed down and enveloped Enjolras.  "My name is Rachel, and I love Broadway musicals, and I'm going to keep you and-"

Combeferre, perched on top of the barricade, decided enough was enough.  "Look!  Enjolras may have had a sister, but only under extreme OOC-ness would he allow said sister to join our meetings.  Plus, Jehan did not recite poetry while he was dying!  He said-"

"I AM THE AUTHORESS!" the cloud rumbled.  "MESS WITH ME AND DIE."

Jean Valjean woke up abruptly, as Cosette, while blushing and pretending she and Marius hadn't fallen in love after randomly looking at each other, had let go of the wheelchair she'd reclaimed from Fantine.  So poor Valjean, of course, went flying down the street, after Bahorel, who was still exceedingly grumpy after the Authoress ignored him yet again, kicked the wheelchair in anger.  

"Ow!  My zeugmatic arch."  The ex-convict was sprawled across the pavement and having some difficulty standing back up.  The National Guardsmen, being the helpful dears they were, ignored him completely and began hitting each other with their unloaded carbines.  The wheelchair rolled over Valjean and down the street.  "Ow.  My coccyx and fibula!"

"Oh, sorry Papa!" Cosette called.  She ran after the wheelchair, thankfully not stepping on her adoptive father in the process.  Fantine, by now thoroughly annoyed, was yelling at the National Guardsmen for not being helpful.  Bahorel was fuming.  And all the Amis were arguing with the authoress.

Valjean, groaning, managed to prop himself up on his elbows.  He quickly spotted a book with a picture of Victor Hugo on it.  "Hmmm.  I wonder what that could be."  He scooted the book closer to him and cracked it open.  "Let's see… Les Miserables by Victor Hugo.  Wait… LES MISERABLES BY VICTOR HUGO!"

Everyone was suddenly silent, except for the National Guard, who were still hitting each other with their carbines.  (A/N: Isn't 'carbines' a fun word?)

"WHAT… WHAT DID YOU SAY?" the cloud, which had changed shape into a young girl, asked.  

"Les Miserables by Victor Hugo," Valjean repeated. "It's a copy of the book."  

Cosette, determinedly pushing the wheelchair up the hill, heard this.  "A copy of the book?" she mused.  "Maybe if we show the authoress the plot she deviated from, she'll stop tormenting us and turn back into a cloud."  She paused a moment.  "Why am I thinking this?"  

"Plot convenience?" Fantine suggested helpfully.

"Most likely.  Quick papa!  Give me the book!"  

Valjean quickly gave the book to Cosette, who after abandoning the wheelchair again (which ran over Jean Valjean because he was having a very Laigle-ish day), dashed over to the barricade.  "Monsieur Courfeyrac!  Throw this at the girl!"  Courfeyrac reached down to get the book and tumbled off.  

"Ow…." Courfeyrac wrathfully rubbed his head.  "Laigle is supposed to have bad luck, not me!"  

"Or me!" Valjean called from his position on the ground.  "Could someone help me up?"

"I'll throw the f-, uh, demmed book at the authoress!" Bahorel exclaimed.  

"Give it here," Combeferre ordered.

Cosette handed it to Courfeyrac, who handed it Fantine, who handed it to Bahorel, who threw it to Combeferre.

"Take that for ruining good literature!" Combeferre cried as he hurled the book at the girl.  

The authoress made a funny sound like, "glop", and melted. 

Jehan blinked.  "That was... a copy-right infringement, I'm sure." 

"Eh," Courfeyrac said.  "Well, at least she's gone."  With that there was another cloud of smoke.

When it had cleared, the barricade and feuding National Guardsmen had vanished.

Cosette, Valjean, and Fantine were left.  

"Bahorel seems to have gotten a fan-girl," Fantine observed.  

"But we don't," Valjean sulked.  "And my coccyx is still broken."

But they weren't the only ones there.  

"Ugh," Combeferre muttered.  "My head."

"Oh, well, I guess that we're not the only ones here," Fantine sighed.  "Aren't you exclusively paired with Enjolras, though?"  

"No… usually Grantaire is paired with Enjolras," Combeferre, always the knowledgeable one replied.  "I'm just there sometimes.  But I guess you three always have an Ami to helpfully guide you to the next destination."

Cosette, who had recovered the wheelchair, nodded.  "It would appear so."

"I wonder why," Combeferre pondered, ready to go into a full philosophical debate with himself.  

Fantine yawned.  "Plot convenience." 

Cosette nodded again.  "Of course."

"My coccyx!" Valjean moaned.     


	5. Chapter Four, slightly tangy

A/N:  I feel it is my civic duty to inform what goes on with me chapters.  I write 'em in the orders of the reviews I get.  This chappie's La Pamplemousse's.  Next is Danica Enjolras, then etidropha, then Weird Kitty, then anyone else who reviews, or perhaps my strange made-up authoresses from chapter two.  Whatever, really.  

Oh!  And dedicated to Douglass Sills, who I'm listening to while I write this.  ;-)  And, yes, I do snoop around in the profiles and stories of the reviewers, sweet775!  I'm crazy and bored.  So forgive me if I horribly mess up you or your Mary-Sues.  Remember, you're trusting then to a sugar-high 14-year-old.  

Disclaimer:  I own nothing but some tattered books, a CD played and the laptop I'm typing this on.  Try and sue me for them and I'll bite you.  

Combeferre adjusted his glasses nervously.  "Well.  The Café Musain."  

"Lovely," Fantine murmured.  "But why are there grapefruits on the ground everywhere?"

"That was what was causing me to adjust my glasses nervously," Combeferre explained.  "Enjolras is allergic to grapefruit rinds and normally bans such fruit from our meetings."

"Ah," Cosette said, looking more then a little confused.   

"It's a long story," Combeferre added.  "And Enjolras would probably hit me over the head with his Large Red Flag of the Revolution if I told you."

"At least that would be fun," Jean Valjean muttered.

"Monsieur le maire!" Fantine cried, looking astonished.  "That's no way for a saint to behave."

Valjean paled.  "Uh-oh. OOC-ness.  We'd better go confront the authoress in there immediately."

"Are you sure she wouldn't rather have us banter aimlessly over whether to go in like we're doing now?" Combeferre suggested.

Cosette shook her head.  "No, I'm sure that the reviewers would rather have us go on so that they can read their special chapters sooner."

"All right."  Fantine pushed open the door to the café.  And the characters who are randomly going around Paris because the authoress too lazy to have all the characters all go to the same spot.  Y'know how much typing that would be?  A lot less probably.  But onto the story.  

"Oh… dear Lord in heaven save us," Fantine murmured.

In the middle of the café was a large cage made out of grapefruits.  Most of the characters were inside the cage trying to get out or ranting about nothing in particular due to the fact that they had to be doing something or looking dead on Enjorlas's part, as we've already told you about his allergy to grapefruit rinds, but Bahorel, Javert, and Eponine were sitting glumly at a table and eating lemon squares (which go surprisingly well with delicious Vanilla Coke™, by the way).

"What?" Combeferre asked, looking confused.  

A short girl with brown hair dropped down from the ceiling onto Bahorel's lap.

"I'm Danielle, also known as La Pamplemousse.  Obey my whims.  Now sit down and eat lemon squares.  Or go into the cage."

"Uhhh…." Cosette was confused.  "What are you doing, and why?"

The girl shrugged.  "Why not?  Now get into the cage or my army of trained grapefruits will attack to kill."

"Army of grapefruits?"  Jean Valjean repeated in disbelief.  "How did you manage that?"

"Lemon squares," La Pamplemousse answered.  "Now!  Bahorel, my darling!  I'm your rabid fan-girl!"

Bahorel looked pleased.  "I have a fan-girl?  This is great!"  

"Why are we here?" Javert asked.  "'I need to be…uh… arresting people and…uh… reporting to the prefect?"

"No you don't!  Now go and recite love poetry to Eponine."

"That's… urgh." Eponine looked ill.  "I don't think I could eat anymore lemon squares now even if I wanted to."

"We, um… refuse to get into the cage... mademoiselle?" Combeferre protested feebly. 

"Fine, army of grapefruits... attack!"  She pointed to the group at the door, and suddenly they were pelted with grapefruits.

"My glasses!"  Combeferre cried as a grapefruit approximately the size of a two-liter of delicious Vanilla Coke™ hit him in the face.  

"Ow!  My zeugmatic arch!  Again!" Valjean yelled as he fell out of the wheelchair.

"It's a good thing I lost my front teeth already," Fantine sighed as several grapefruits hit her in the mouth.

"Ahhhh!  My eyes!" Cosette wailed.  "The juice is in my eyes!  I can't see!"

"To the cage," La Pamplemousse dictated lazily.  The group, guided by the army of grapefruits, walked to the cage and was flung in.

"So," La Pamplemousse continued on as if she hadn't just sent several main characters and a secondary character to a cage with her army of grapefruits. "Bahorel, how do you feel about slash with Jehan?"

The cage was surprisingly roomy.  Feuilly was leaning against one of the pillars of grapefruits thinking about Poland.  Courfeyrac was muttering about how the grisettes wouldn't look twice at him now that he was covered in grapefruit juice, and holding Gavroche on his shoulders so that the street urchin could pick the lock.  It wasn't working to well, as when ever Gavroche almost got the lock un-locked, grapefruit juice would squirt down on them.  The lock and door, for no apparent reason, was on the top of the cage.  How everyone got into the cage was a bit of a mystery.   

Jehan, after hearing the phrase "slash with Jehan" had taken to hiding behind Fantine's skirt and murmuring something about "oh God no," and "what have I done to deserve this", and "I wonder why Enjolras looks so dead".

Enjolras, who was sprawled on the floor, looking very pale and more then slightly dead, was not moving.  Grantaire, who had somehow managed to get drunk off grapefruit juice, was sitting in top of Enjolras's right arm and talking about how Roman philosophers were are lousy drunks who enjoyed torturing poor students with their overly complicated names for plants.

Cosette, moping because Marius wasn't there, was sitting next to Feuilly.  Fantine was pacing and muttering about insanity and unfair imprisonment, while Jean Valjean was still sprawled on the floor outside the cage.  Nobody thought to help him back up or ask him to open the cage due to the fact that Valjean was unconscious, and several grapefruits with fangs were pruning themselves on top of his head.

"Oh, and by the way, Javvie-kins, you have a daughter named Etoile!"  La Pamplemousse was having great fun with torturing the poor inspector.  

"Wha- no I don't!  I'm not married."  The Inspector, who had been tied to his chair, struggled vainly against his bonds.

"Not anymore!" La Pamplemousse chirped cheerfully while hugging Bahorel.  "Your wife, Juliette, died of a coughing fit.  By the way, where'd you get your greatcoat?  I like it."

"You can have it mademoiselle, if you'd just let me go!"  

"Ummm.  No."

"Can you at least let me go?" Eponine asked.

"Ummm… no.  Now Bahorel, what about that slash?" 

"Sure!  You see, I, unlike other people, will actually do what you ask, because I know what people like!  But I just won't do any slash with lawyers, because that'd just be sick and wrong."  Bahorel went on about how he was a forgotten character that really could do a better job at what the authoresses told him to do then all of the other Amis put together.

"Oh, Javert, I love you," Eponine recited listlessly, looking like she was going being prodded with a sharp object.  

"And… urgh, I'm going to be ill.  Release me at once!  You're under arrest!"

The authoress, who was listening to Bahorel rant about how evil lawyers were, paid no attention.  Her other army of grapefruit ninjas bared their fangs and looked menacing.  Javert and Eponine paled and went back to awkwardly reciting love songs.     

Meanwhile, in the Cage O' Mighty Grapefruits, things were not looking good, because everyone was covered in grapefruit juice and couldn't see very well.   

"Ignore the grapefruit juice," Courfeyrac hissed.  "If I'm willing to get grapefruit juice all over myself, you should too."

"But it's in my eyes!" Gavroche hissed back.  "I can't see!"

"He has a point there," Combeferre pointed out, dismally holding the broken halves of his glasses.  "Wait… how can I dismally hold things?  That doesn't make sense!"  

"QUIET!  I CAN"T HEAR MY BELOVED BAHOREL RANT!" La Pamplemousse roared.  

"Got it," Gavroche whispered.  "But you owe me now." 

"POLAND!" Feuilly yelled, now severely annoyed because the grapefruits had not been imported from Poland.  "Why didn't you import these grapefruits from Poland?  They need your francs as much as the next country!  Speaking of which, Poland's main resources…."  Feuilly now went onto a long elaborate harangue about Poland which the authoress will not write because she is lazy and doesn't want to look up any information on Poland.  

"Aghh!" Gavroche shrieked in a threatening manner.  He, with a little help from Courfeyrac, who was now thoroughly put out about the ruin of his new coat, scrambled out of the Cage O' Mighty Grapefruits and practically flew at Bahorel and the authoress.  

He was closely followed by everyone but Enjolras, who was still looking quite dead, and Feuilly, who was still ranting about Poland.

"Attack, my ninja grapefruits!" the authoress commanded while holding onto Bahorel.  

"No, I love you more, my dear Snookums," Eponine mumbled.  "Oh, this is horrible.  Can't you just let us go?"

"I'll get my grapefruit army to attack you!" La Pamplemousse warned.

"Ah!  Not the eyes!" Combeferre yelled, brandishing the broken halves of his glasses.  

Fantine picked up a fork and began stabbing at the ninja grapefruits while muttering wrathfully about repressed memories.  This authoress really doesn't want to know….

Courfeyrac, cheering up when he saw a Marie-Suzette wandering by, began whacking at the flying grapefruits with the empty plate the lemon squares used to be on.

Bahorel and Feuilly ranted on for no apparent reason.  

Grantaire staggered about drunkly, shouting, "Hahahaha!  Observe how comically drunk I am, everyone!"  

Cosette scrambled out and ran to the authoress and began shouting about Marius.  What exactly it was is unknown, as then Joly and Laigle, who had been conspicuously absent, burst into the room with a copy of 'Les Miserables.'

"Yob sick anb twibted person!" Joly raged, brandishing his copy of 'Les Miserables'.  "Thab wab ebil anb wronb!"

"Uh… what he said?" Laigle added feebly.  "I'm not sure what he just said, actually." 

"Hunh?  You didn't like it?"  La Pamplemousse called over the noise of dying grapefruits and ranting students.

"Nobne shoub use lebon squares thab way!"  Joly shouted.  "Nob bo mebion thab I'm allerbic tob lebons."  

"And we almost got arrested," Laigle added.  

"Tabe thib!" Joly bellowed, throwing the book at the authoress, who promptly melted.

The noise in the room faded.  

"Look what you've done!  You've gone and melted my only fan-girl," Bahorel groused.

"Ooooh, I'm going to be ill," Eponine complained.  

"You should've let me arrest her instead of melting her," Javert grumbled.

"Hey, what happened to Enjolras?" Laigle wanted to know.  "He looks more then a little dead, if you ask me."

"He'b allergic to grapebruit rinbs," Joly explained.

"Oooh, my head…" Valjean moaned.  "My poor cranium, which you happen to be standing on…."  

This time there was a flash of light.

"Great," Cosette snapped, annoyed.  "Why are we always left behind?  Wouldn't it be easier if we all just appeared together instead?  And why are we still sitting in the middle of all these grapefruits?"  

There was a flash of purple light, and then the grapefruit pieces and cage disappeared.  

"That's better," Cosette muttered, slightly mollified.  

"Wheee!  I'm still comically drunk!" Grantaire slurred.   

"This next authoress must have a girlfriend for Enjolras," Fantine concluded.

"I need help getting up," Valjean informed everyone.    

"Where will they go this time?" Cosette wondered, pushing the wheelchair to Valjean.  

Fantine shrugged.  "Where did your husband live before?"

"The… Gorbeau tenement, I think," Cosette murmured, thinking.  "We could check there, but I'm not sure where that is.

"I'm laughably intoxicated!" Grantaire reminded them all, stumbling to the door.  "Yet the authoress deems me sober enough to guide you all to said tenement!"

"Let's follow the drunkard then," Valjean sighed as he eased himself into his wheelchair. 

"I wish the chapter would end already," Cosette sighed.

And her wish was granted.   


	6. Chapter Five, with just a hint of sarcas...

A/N:  I got out of school earily today, so I wrote two chapters.  But I'm leaving on a weekend trip soon, so don't expect a chapter or two a day as I've been doing recently.  Plus, I got really annoyed with a fan-fic that made Cosette out to be a screaming Hadrian with schizophrenic tendencies, and Marius was a rude drunkard who would sleep with anything in a skirt.  It annoyed me so much that I wrote another chapter.     

Disclaimer:  If I were Victor Hugo I'd sue all the people who keep portraying Cosette as an evil slut harpy and Marius as an empty-headed psychopath with a short temper.  Since I haven't done that, you can conclude that I am not Victor Hugo.    

"Heresh sheay Gorbeau tenement," Grantaire hiccupped.  "I'm going to go play wiv sheay Green Faerie… sees ya."

With that he collapsed onto the pavement and began to snore.  

"Uh…."  Fantine was confused.  "Is this normal for him?"

Cosette shrugged.  "I wouldn't know…."

"It would seem so," Valjean muttered.  

"And… I suppose we go in, now," Fantine murmured, dubiously eyeing the decaying staircase.  "It really can't be any worse then my old garret, I suppose."

"Are you sure we should try to step on that?" Cosette queried.  "It doesn't look that safe and/or sturdy."

"You've got a good point," Valjean agreed.  "And you know… this building is not wheelchair accessible.  That's got to be violating some laws against discrimination based on physical disabilities."

"Yeeeees," Fantine murmured.  "But this is Paris in 1832.  We don't have laws against sexual, physical, or racial discrimination.  I can testify to that myself."

"But that still leaves us with the problem of how to get Papa up the stairs," Cosette pointed out.  "And the only person who might've been able to help us carry the wheelchair up the stairs is passed on a sidewalk."

Fantine nudged Grantaire with her shoe.  "It would appear so.  Oh, help!  We're being oppressed by unfit staircases and general drunkenness!" 

"Did someone say they were being repressed?" a voice called out.

Fantine, who found this perfectly normal, nodded.  "Yes!  We're being repressed by unfair representation from authoresses who see my daughter as vapid and evil and couldn't care less about me or my good friend monsieur le maire."

"And this building isn't wheel-chair accessible," Cosette added.  "Plus, we have a drunken revolutionary student at our feet who doesn't seem to want to move and is blocking our pathway into the building."

"Which we couldn't get into anyways because the staircase is rotten," Valjean shouted.  

"Wow, you people do sound oppressed!" the voice answered.  "Tough luck!"  And with that the sound of footsteps were heard.  

Cosette and Fantine looked at each other wordlessly.

"And I thought that it was the Scarlet Pimpernel come to help us get into the building," Jean Valjean sighed.

"Papa, don't be silly!" Cosette scolded.  "You know that the Scarlet Pimpernel only saves Royalists from the guillotine, preventing the spread of democracy everywhere!  And besides, you and my beloved, non-evil dreamer of a husband, Marius, whom I love and who loves me, took part in a rebellion to overthrow the monarchy."

"Ah, Cosette has a point," Fantine agreed.  "But we've wasted about a page or so trying to figure out how to get into the building, and the reviewers, I'm sure, are getting annoyed, and we should probably start on the next authoress." 

"But how will we get into the building?  As you might recall mother, you died of consumption, and I'm hardly allowed outside the house as dictated by strange bourgeois customs and the etiquette of the time, so carrying Papa is out of the question for either of us, especially since the steps could hardly hold our weight as it is."  Cosette tapped her chin with her forefinger.  "Hmmmm.  I wonder what we'll do."  

"Fine!" snapped a voice from out of the sky.  "Here!"  A bottle of delicious Vanilla Coke™ fell out of a cloud.  

"Ah!  Coke-a-cola… real!" Valjean exclaimed.  He quickly grained the bottle in one gulp.  "The sugar runs through my veins!  I… feel… strong!"  Valjean leapt out of his wheelchair and immediately began climbing the brink wall of the Gorbeau tenement up to the fourth story and climbed in through the window.  

Cosette and Fantine stared in shock.

"What do we do now?" Cosette wanted to know.  

"We could try the stairs," Fantine suggested.  "Or we could just go wait on the street and window-shop."

"I think the window-shopping sounds good!" Cosette chirped cheerfully.  "Besides, I think the authoress is going crazier by the minute.  On we go!"  Fantine and Cosette happily skipped out of the alleyway and onto the main road, thereby escaping from my vortex of insanity.  

But let us return to the Gorbeau House, because the plot really needs to get going now.  And y'know some interesting stuff was going on in there, even if there was no delicious Vanilla Coke™ involved.  Or perhaps there was some delicious Vanilla Coke™ involved, as the authoress is really making this up as she goes along.  But back to the plot, and our strong and sugar-high saint, Jean Valjean!  

"La la la!" Jean Valjean sang.  "I feel strong and sugar high!  Let's see if there are any poor people I can help or innocent civilians to save."  

"Oh, Javert, your sideburns are soooooo sexy," purred a Mary-Sue from the other room.  "My name is Violette Beaumont, by the way!"

"Enjolras, I've always had a _thing_ for red flags," hummed another Marie-Suzette.

"Argh!  No!  Not another one!"  It was Enjolras, the blond revolutionary student with an allergy to grapefruit rinds.  "I _tell_ you, leave me alone!"

"You can't mean that Enjy, darling!  You wouldn't deliberately push away your gorgeous Virgine LeNoir, now would you?  I expect you want to forget all about your revolution and marry me!  Then we'll return to your family home in the French countryside and live as kindly yet wealthy land owners who are so madly in love it sickens everyone who sees it… why, it would even make Cosette and Marius ill, and they're so ridiculously cute and sweet that it gives some people cavities already!" 

"You're under arrest," Javert muttered sulkily.  "You're under arrest for, uh… violating a copyright and being stupid."

There was a highly pitched giggle that rang like… something that rings and is high pitched and stuff, throughout the dank and dirty building.  "Oh, Javie!  You're sooo cute when you're arresting people!  Take me and show me you," *insert another high pitched giggle here* "your night-stick."

"HEY!  REMEMBER MY PG RATING!" a voice out of no where boomed.  "CONTROL YOUR MARY-SUES!"  

"What?  I will, I will," another voice called airily.  "But right now, I'm making all the members of L'Amis D'ABC listen to me sing 'On My Own'."

"CAREFUL!  I'M TOO LAZY TO TRY AND FIND MY CD CASE FOR 'LES MIS' AND I HAVEN'T WRITTEN OUT THE FACT THAT WE DON'T OWN ANYTHING FROM THE MUSICAL."

"Well, you did just now," the other authoress pointed out.  

"HMMM, GOOD POINT.  CONTINUE."

"So, anyways, Courfeyrac, would you like to re-enact my favorite scene from yesterday's Buffy, where Spike and Buffy confess their love for each other?  Or would you rather re-enact the scene from 1776 where everyone's trying to figure out who'll write the Constitution?"  The authoress, also known as Danica Enjolras, beamed happily at the characters.  

"Ummm…." The aforementioned student stuttered.  "Well, ah, um… I think, ah, that, um… Jehan!  Yes, Jehan really would rather be Spike."  

"Hmmm.  This is getting bad," Valjean whispered to himself as he displayed his strength by lifting up various heavy objects in the room.  "I'd better go save those other characters or else I'll be forced to endure more of this vampire slayer thing.  The students are horrible actors!"  

"La!" Valjean sang.  And with that, he burst into the hallway and attempted to find the students.  He opened the first door, and shouted, "Away with thee Marie- Suzette!"

"Uh…" said the inhabitant of that room.  "My name is Armand.  And I'm male."

"Are you a Gary-Stu, then?" Valjean asked.  

"No, I'm just part of the authoress's half-hearted attempts at a cross-over with 'The Scarlet Pimpernel'."  

"Oh, okay."  Jean Valjean, not to be deterred, bounded into the room across the hall.  "Ah-ha!  Caught you in the act!"  

"Of eating bread?" a small gamine wanted to know.  "I didn't know that was illegal."  

"Are you a Marie-Suzette?"

"Um… I don't think so, considering that I'm exceedingly ugly and have nothing to do with any of the revolutionary students."  

"Okay, never mind.  Here's a gold napoleon.  Go buy some jam to eat with that bread."

"Okay!"  The gamine wandered away, and Valjean burst into the next room.  

"And I have found you at last!"  Valjean shouted, still sugar-high from the delicious Vanilla Coke™. 

"Ummm… we're in the next room," a girl with blonde hair and hazel eyes, also known as Danica, informed him.  

"Oh."  Jean Valjean, deciding that he was tired of the dimly lit hallway and doors, kicked the wall and it fell down.  

"Oh, hello again," Armand greeted him.  "I think you want the other wall."

"Ah, good idea," Jean Valjean exclaimed.  He kicked another wall down.  

"Wrong one again.  That's the wall of the building… the one that's, you know, next to the air and stuff outside."

"Well, I'll get it right this time," Valjean assured Armand.  He kicked down a wall to reveal a disgruntled looking Enjolras and Javert.  Both had women sitting in their laps.

"About time, 24601!" Javert snapped.

"My name is Jean Valjean," Jean Valjean sang.

"And you are infringing on a copyright," Javert snarled.

"That's no way to treat the hero of Victor Hugo's masterpiece!"  Jean Valjean was outraged enough to forget saving the rest of the characters.  

Combeferre poked his head out of the next room.  "It could be debated that Marius is Hugo's main character."

"Yes, but he is only featured in a few books, while I am in all of them but the one called 'Marius'."

"It is said that Victor Hugo based Marius off himself," Courfeyrac interrupted.  He was edging away from the blonde authoress who was singing selections from 1776 with Jehan, who had a surprisingly good voice.

"Then do you think that Victor Hugo created a Gary- Stu?" Combeferre questioned.  

"Nah," Enjolras disagreed.  "Marius is too dense to be considered a perfect character, and has made too many stupid mistakes to even be considered a Gary Stu, though falling in love and marrying Cosette was not a mistake.  This woman on my lap, however…."

"Hey!" snapped the blonde authoress.  "I'm busy here.  All of you, sing songs from musicals!"

"No!" Javert yelled.  The Marie- Suzette on his lap hissed and attempted to claw out his eyes.    

"Do as I say!"  

"I refuse."  The Marie- Suzette bit him.  "OUCH!"

"I am an authoress!  I can make you do anything I want.  If I want you to sing 'Do You Hear The People Sing' in falsetto, you'll do it.  Got it?" 

"Do you hear the people sing?" Javert shrilled.  "Singing a song of angry men?  It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!"

"No!  Stop, stop!  You're ruining my wonderfully inspirational song," Enjolras complained.  The Marie- Suzette on his lap hissed and attempted to claw out his eyes.  

"Make me!"  

"I can!" Armand offered helpfully.  "I found this on the floor."  He handed a copy of 'Les Miserables' to Jean Valjean.  "And since I've now fulfilled my duty, I guess I'll disappear." And that he did.  

"That was strange," Danica Enjolras mused.  "But this parody was completely nonsensical to begin with, so I suppose it doesn't matter."

"Uh… take that?" Jean Valjean said, looking confused.  He tossed the book at the authoress, who melted into a puddle of goop after saying "I glomped you Enjolras!" 

"I wonder where we'll end up this time," Enjolras sighed.  "At least I'm rid of the wine-cask, though."

"I wonder where Cosette and Fantine are," Valjean said.  "They disappeared after I climbed the wall thanks to that delicious Vanilla Coke™ restored my nearly super-human strength."  

"Here we go again," Courfeyrac complained, as a large cloud of smoke enveloped the room.  

When it cleared no one was in the room, the cloud of smoke having helpfully dropped Jean Valjean into the middle of the street where Fantine and Cosette had been window-shopping. 

"Hello papa!  Do we now have to go rescue the students again by flinging heavy books at young girls with obsessive-compulsive tendencies?"  Cosette paused to examine a dress in the window.  

"Yes," Jean Valjean informed her.  "But I still have my half-empty bottle of delicious Vanilla Coke™."

"Goodie," Fantine said.  "But first let me go examine those false teeth in the shop over there."

"I wonder where Marius is?" Cosette murmured.  "You know, he is my husband, who, according to Hugo would never think of being unfaithful to me or fall in love with Azemla, who moved to AMERICA, by the way, and Marius isn't one who enjoys physical or psychological violence, or would swear.  Remember he's religious, and kind, and sweet…" Cosette went on rapturously about Marius's qualities while Valjean ran around the streets cackling madly.        

"Hey there's no student with us!" Valjean realized.  

"I'm still comically drunk!"  Grantaire exclaimed. 

"Oh."  


	7. Chapter Six with gratuious insanity

A/N:  Whee!  So many happy reviews!  And all shall have their chapters.  Here's the way I have it (going in order of reviews where people asked to be included): next is Weird Kitty, followed by Madame de Lioncourt, followed by tattered sparrow, then Eponine Enjolras with a made-up authoress, then… I dunno.  Whoever else reviews.  Or some random made-up authoresses or something.  

Disclaimer:  You know how I'm not Victor Hugo?  Well I'm not Tolkien either.  I don't own anything in this story but the plot, which is rather pointless and is not appearing in this chapter.  Who needs plot?  Not me.

"Lookie at the pink elephants!" Grantaire exclaimed drunkenly.

"Don't you have any other characteristics?" Fantine snapped.

"Besides overt inebriation?  Probably, but I'm sure no wants me to go into three page rants about dead Greeks."  Grantaire, who had found an unopened bottle of absinthe in the alley in front of the Gorbeau tenement, was happily weaving through the streets of Paris.  

"La la la la la la la," Valjean sang under his breath, swinging his bottle of delicious Vanilla Coke™ around.  "I feel it is God's will that we save the students, but am I worthy of such redemption?"

Cosette sighed.  "Papa, perhaps you should drink more of that delicious Vanilla Coke™.  You're acting like yourself again, which means you'll collapse soon, and we forgot the wheelchair on the other side of the city."

"Where are we going anyway?" Fantine asked.  She was annoyed because she hadn't had enough money on her to buy herself a nice set of false front teeth.

"Rue Plumet," Cosette murmured absently.  "I think we turn… left here and walk past the café on the right then we turn right.  Oh dear, I really should've walked around Paris more instead of whispering endearments to Marius in the garden."   

"Ah!  That café has very good quiche!" Grantaire interjected randomly.

"Lovely," Fantine muttered.  

Jean Valjean, who had drunken more delicious Vanilla Coke™ from the Plastic Bottle of Hyper OOC-ness, was running around the streets, calling out directions and passing out ten franc notes for every homeless person he saw in the street.

"Papa!  Come back!  You shouldn't be giving a 10 franc note to that!  It's a pile of trash! Papa!"  Cosette hurried after her father, who was shouting his random monologue-ish song 'Who Am I' at the top of his lungs.

"WE DON'T OWN THAT, BY THE WAY," a voice from the sky boomed.  

Grantaire was too drunk to notice the voice.  Fantine and Cosette were quite used to random voices booming out of the sky by now, and Jean Valjean was too busy doing… saintly things which I will not describe until I have found another bottle of delicious Vanilla Coke™, to care.

Unfortunately, the authoress discovered that they were all out of delicious Vanilla Coke ™ and so had to make due with a half liter of Cool Nestea™, which probably has more sugar in it then delicious Vanilla Coke™.  But I digress again.  The major point of this paragraph is to say that things were going to get muchly worse for the poor Mizzies, something which I hadn't mentioned before.  Now, back to the plot.

"I have a feeling things are going to get much worse!" Grantaire informed them drunkenly.

"No duh," Fantine retorted.  "Weren't you paying attention to the last insane paragraph?"

"Whee!  I'm comically drunk, I am." Grantaire stumbled about, and careened into various passer-bys.   

"Um… ah-ha!  Here we are!  We turn right here, and then we… hmmm… go straight until we see the tree that looks like a giant penguin and then… 50 paces from the giant palm tree…." Cosette looked up.  "May I remind you that we're still in Paris in 1832, where we have no laws for discrim-?"

"FINE.  NO PALM TREES."

"Thank you."  Cosette looked around.  "Um… oh!  We're here!"  

"I, Super Saint, will scale the garden wall and confront the evil authoresses of doom!" Valjean exclaimed.  "I feel the sugar running through my veins!"  Having announced his intentions, Valjean promptly climbed the garden fence and flung himself into the garden.

Cosette looked at him oddly.  "Uh… papa?  You did know that the gate is unlocked… didn't you?"  She pushed the gate open and screamed.

"Cosette, dear, are you okay?" Fantine called.

"I am drunk, drunk I am.  Drunk am I!"

"Stop it!  Now you're plagiarizing from Jehan's Muse's fic that humorously combined the plot of Les Mis and the writing style of Dr. Seuss!" Fantine was annoyed.  So she dragged him up to the gate and flung him in the garden.  She followed afterwards and screamed.  

"AAHHHHH!" she, uh… screamed.  "Why are we trapped in this net?"  

If you couldn't tell, Cosette, Valjean, Grantaire and Fantine were trapped in a Giant Net of Random Capitalization.  

The students, not including Grantaire, who is the temporary guide even though he had no clue where Rue Plumet was, were trapped in another, larger net.  The nets were hanging from trees because nets do not hang from bushes.  It wouldn't be much of a Giant Net of Random Capitalization if a net hung from a 3ft tall bush, now would it? 

 But the special thing was… that Marius was there!  If one could call that special….

"Marius!" Cosette cried, trying to get closer to her husband even though she was in a Giant Net of Random Capitalization.  "Marius!  We've been looking everywhere for you!  You weren't there in the last three chapters."

"Cosette!" Marius yelled.  He was tied to a chair, by the way.  "Sorry for putting you through so much trouble, darling.  But I was here the whole time, with the insane authoress, except for that time in the last chapter where I escaped, but a girl in a pink sweatshirt forced me to reenact love scenes with Eponine!"

"No talking!" snarled a voice from inside the house. "I'm making the hobbits comfortable!"

Javert, who got his own Special Net of String Cheese, angrily called out, "Hobbits?  They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien!"  

"It's in the disclaimer," the voice called out.  

"Noise!  Random distractions!" the students called out, because the authoress is suffering from a severe lack of creativity due to the deficient of delicious Vanilla Coke™ in her system.

"Fine!" the authoress yelled.  "I'm coming out." A fifteen-year-old authoress, looking thoroughly disgruntled, stepped out of the house, followed by a short man with grey hair.  

"Hello, Frodo!" he greeted Marius cheerfully.

"For the last time, I'm not your grand-nephew Frodo and I don't have the One Ring, or whatever you want!"  Marius attempted to untie himself.  "I'm Baron Marius Pontmercy!  My wife, who you have trapped in a net, over there, can testify to that!"

Cosette, catching the idea, added, "Of course I could testify to that!  And I will, as soon as you would just get us out of this Giant Net of Random Capitalization."  

Super Saint Valjean, meanwhile, was carefully tearing hoes in the mesh netting, hummed 'At the End of the Day' to himself, which, by the way, we do not own the copyright for.

"I'll make you do even more random things that make your brains hurt should you continue to disobey me," the authoress threatened cheerfully.

Enjolras, who had recovered from his close proximity to grapefruit rinds and Marie-Suzettes (from the last few chapters), shot her his patented Glare O' Death™.  "Like what?"

"I could make you all run around in the nude in a museum while doing the hula with mummies," she suggested.

Combeferre paled.  "That's… that's just cruel and unusual punishment!  You wouldn't really do that, would you?"

"Try me!" the authoress, also known as etidropha, warned them happily.  She turned to Marius and bean petting his hair.  "Marius, I love your wonderful hobbit hair, which by the way, is ™ me!"

"It's _not_ hobbit hair, whatever that is!" Marius protested, attempting to move his head out of the way so etidropha, also known as Jemibub, couldn't pet it.

"Yes it is!" Jemibub, also known as the fifteen- year- old authoress, exclaimed.  She attempted to rip Marius's hair off his head.  

"Ow!  My hair doesn't come off!" he exclaimed.  "Owowowowowowowow!"

"I'm sure it does!" the fifteen- year- old authoress, who can also be known as 'she' when another female is mentioned close before the beginning of a sentence, exclaimed cheerfully.  She began tugged at it again.  "It's precious… MY PRECIOUS!"

Bilbo, who had been cheerfully poking about Cosette's garden, looked up sharply.  "Where?"  He glanced around and saw Cosette's wedding ring, which was helpfully attached to Cosette's ring finger.  

"Ah!  My old ring!  I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I just held it a minute…." Bilbo leapt up and latched onto Cosette's finger.  

"Ahhh!" she screamed.  "No, that's my wedding ring!  Let go of it!"  She quickly stole Valjean's (now empty) bottle of Vanilla Coke and hit Bilbo over the head with it.  He collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

"That's not nice!" etidropha exclaimed, still tugging at Marius's hair.  "I'll turn Enjolras into a cowboy and make Fantine carry skulls around for no particular reason!"  

Valjean, who had finally cut through the Giant Net of Random Capitalization, leapt out and seized a copy of 'Les Miserables' off a tree.  Victor Hugo's books are very special indeed, as here they grow off trees.

"Marius, quick!" he yelled.  Valjean tossed the book to Marius, who had managed to get his hands untied.  He quickly thrust it into the fifteen- year- old authoress, who promptly melted after screaming, "MY PRECIOUS" one last time.  

The nets disappeared and the rest of the cannon characters tumbled out.  

"Marius!" Cosette yelled joyfully as soon as she had regained her balance.  

"Cosette!" Marius cried out, just as joyfully.  "I'd run to you, darling, if my legs were still not tied to this chair."

Cosette ran to him and hugged him tightly.  She then sat on his lap and they began to whisper random things like, "hello", "delicious Vanilla Coke™", and "wedding rings" to each other.   

"Awwwwww," the other cannon characters cooed (except for Grantaire, who had passed out while in the net due to alcohol poisoning, and Valjean, who had leapt over the wall and was doing saintly things).

"Mwahahahahahaha!" cackled a voice.  

"Uh-oh," Courfeyrac muttered.  

"Alas, Poland," Feuilly sighed.  

There was a large cloud of smoke.  When it cleared, Cosette and Fantine were left in the garden with a greatly annoyed Courfeyrac.  

"Sugar!" Valjean yelled triumphantly beyond the wall.                 

   Just a teensy note about reviews: if you want to be in this odd product of my insanity, please give me as many random details about yourself as possible.  And let me know what pairings you like, your Mary-Sues, etc. or else I'll have to snoop in your profile and stories, when I could be buying more delicious Vanilla Coke ™.  Just so's you know….


	8. Chapter Seven with a random MarieSuzette

A/N:  Well, updates will be rather infrequent, now I'm afraid.  First off, I just started a new semester at school, which means homework, and I'm required to do it.  But, since you're still reading my fic, I might as well inform you that I recently went to Atlanta, and the Coke factory in Atlanta and got lots of free samples of delicious Vanilla Coke™(apologies for last chapter, where I *sob* forgot a ™ sign after delicious Vanilla Coke™… I was hurrying to get it done before my family and I left for Atlanta, where I wouldn't have computer access for three or four days).  On with the story!

Disclaimer:  Whoops!  Not yet.  First, I must inform you that, no matter how hard I try, I cannot own any characters from 'Les Mis' and any other story I've managed to mention in here.  *grumbles*  And now you can read the story, or whatever.  

"And where are we going?" Cosette asked, sulking.  She was sulking because she had seen Marius and now Marius was gone.  Plus, they had run into some authoresses out on the street who had kept throwing mud at her and yelling at her for "stealing" Marius away from Eponine and, albeit unwittingly, ruined the beloved, beautiful (forget the fact that Eponine was disturbed- mentally so, according to Hugo-, dirty, and diseased) gamine's life.  "I tell you, Monsieur Hugo made it perfectly clear that Marius was a little frightened by Eponine and couldn't care less about her, and I would've never 'stolen' Marius's affections…."

"Back to my apartment," Courfeyrac replied disgruntledly.  He was disgruntled because he hadn't met any of the beautiful Marie- Suzettes the rabid fan-girls had promised him...and also because the only two females with him couldn't care less.  One had no front teeth, and the other was married.  And there was an absence of pretty grisettes on the street.  "Marius shared my apartment when he ran out of money, and we've tried nearly everywhere else."

"Where is it?" Fantine wanted to know.  She was annoyed because some random gamin in the streets had laughed at her lack of front teeth and un-even haircut.  Plus there was the fact that she was supposed to be dead and she was getting very tired of being forgotten by the authoresses time and time again.  

"Super Saint Valjean will help out your family!" Valjean exclaimed giving a beggar 20 francs.  He wasn't sulking/ being disgruntled/ being annoyed because he was too sugar-high to care.  "Now go and pray for redemption!  God forgives you know!"

"Papa," Cosette interjected, irritated.  "Why don't you believe in that yourself?  You keep going around moping and begging forgiveness of your sins and such all for stealing a loaf of bread!  Just be forgiven for it already."  Cosette suddenly realized that what she said was very OOC.  "I'd phrase that gentler while being more bubbly, but I'm too aggravated to try."

"Super Saint Valjean will help change you from your life of crime!" Valjean exclaimed, upon seeing a pickpocket… uh… picking his pocket.  Really, they need to have more synonyms for 'pick-pocket'.  "Here's some money!  Go buy yourself a lovely set of silver candlesticks and go and sin no more.   The authoress would go into a three-page rant on the value of honest, decent work, but the authoress has lent her copy of 'Les Mis' to a friend and isn't feeling creative enough to try and write one herself."

"Wow monsieur!" the pickpocket exclaimed, taking the money gratefully.  "This incident has changed my life!  I think I'll go and establish a factory in a small sea-side town and become a near saint who sacrifices his life for the good of others."

"That's the spirit!"  Valjean ran over to a group of oppressed people and flung money at them.  "Here!  Be ye not oppressed!"  

"Yay!  We're not oppressed anymore!" the formerly oppressed people shouted happily.  "Instead of attempting to mug you, your adopted daughter, your adopted daughter's birthmother, and your son- in- law's best friend, we're going to go become productive members of society." They disbanded to go do so.  Valjean was happy.  And rather hyper, truth be told.

"Great!  Now we have to deal with Super Saint Jean Valjean!"  Fantine kicked a building in anger and somehow managed not to break her foot.  "Ow!  And what about the next authoress?"

"Coming, I'm sure," Courfeyrac replied glumly.  "Why aren't I getting any of the Marie –Suzettes I was promised?"

"JUST WAIT FOR CHAPTER… UH… WELL, IN SIX MORE CHAPTERS."  
  


"Thank you random voice in the sky," Courfeyrac grumbled.  "But six more chapters of this nonsensical insanity?  Why torture the poor reviewers so?"

"TO GET MORE REVIEWS AND HAVE AN EXCUSE TO DRINK DELICIOUS VANILLA COKE ™.  NOW BE QUIET AND GET ON WITH THE STORY."      

The characters did so.  

"Oh look," Cosette muttered dully.  "A handy flashing sign saying, 'MARIE- SUZETTE'."  

And there was.  A handy-dandy sign in the middle of the street was pointing to a very beautiful gamine with perfectly manicured toenails and eyes of vibrant cornflower.  

"Who made you?" Courfeyrac asked appreciatively.  

The Marie-Suzette giggled.  "Oh, I'm actually the long-lost illegitimate daughter of Erik, the Phantom of the Opera!  I was made by an authoress from the Phantom of the Opera section, and I kind of got lost!"  She batted her long blonde eyelashes.  "Could you help me monsieur?"

"No, we're on a quest of sorts," Fantine snapped.  "Get out of the way!"

The Marie-Suzette pouted.  "Oh, that's not very nice!"  

Courfeyrac, being the dashing fellow he was, intervened.  "Ah, my dear, with your hair of… hmmm… is that… glistening corn-silk or a river of sun-rise gold?"

"It's actually glossy and summery amber, but keep going."

"And, uh… full pouting lips and single gold earring; we are unable to help you at this time.  But, _cheri_, you are too pretty to abandon…." Courfeyrac slung an arm around her shoulders.  "What do you say to going back to my apartment?"  

Cosette sighed then wandered off to get her father, who was saving people from run-away carts again.  Fantine, deciding enough was enough, simply sat in the middle of the street and screamed.  

The Marie- Suzette stopped flirting and looked evil.  "All right, fine.  If you must know, the authoress isn't at your apartment; she's in the café over there.  But look out for Percy Blakeney's protégée… she's out to get you too, Courfey, darling."  She simpered and clung on to Courfeyrac in a manner suggestive of ivy trying to kill a tree.

"Let's go," Cosette sighed, dragging her father, who was throwing money in the air to the people in the street, and her mother, who was now sulking because the authoress isn't getting her in character very well, and Courfeyrac, who was clinging to the (voluptuous) Marie-Suzette, into the café. The authoress has just re-read this paragraph and gotten the impression that Cosette has three hands.  To clarify, Cosette had been dragging Valjean and Courfeyrac with the same hand.  And dragging Fantine in another. 

"Okay, where's my husband?" Cosette snapped, irritated that everyone seemed to hate her, the authoress wouldn't give her any delicious Vanilla Coke™ (because the authoress herself has run out of delicious Vanilla Coke™…alas) so she could be as happy and hyper as Jean Valjean, and because people kept telling her she was evil.  You'd be annoyed and unhappy too.    

"Alas!" Courfeyrac lamented.  "We left the Marie- Suzette out in the street!  I really think I should escort her to my garret, I mean…ah, her section of fan-fiction.  Now, if you'd be so kind, mademoiselle…."

"No!" Cosette was thoroughly peeved.  It just hadn't been a good day today.  "Now be quiet and go, go annoy the authoress or something, you, you… not-nice person," she ended lamely.  Cosette was never very good with insults. 

"Good job," Fantine sighed, resigning herself to permanent OOC-ness.  

An authoress wearing black leather stared at them.  "What the- what are you doing here?  I thought Sydney Carton's chambermaid was supposed to distract you."  

"No, it was the Phantom of the Opera's long-lost illegitimate daughter," Courfeyrac corrected.  Look at that. Alliteration. Two 'c's…' *C*orfeyrac *c* orrected… the authoress's English teacher would be proud.  

"Whatever.  You're just in time for the OOC-ness session."  The authoress, who was brandishing a riding crop for no apparent reason, pointed the riding crop at a bunch of Mizzies doing random things.  

"Ha ha!  Listen to my knock-knock jokes!" Javert enthused.  "And who cares about the law?  Lawbreakers are my best friends!"  The inspector paled.  "Oh no… not me too…."

"I know you have a mistress whom you are apparently smitten with, Joly, but I know you love me?"  Laigle was reading off a script.  "What kind of a script is this?  It makes no sense what-so-ever."  

"Anb I know you lobe me too, Laigle, especially abter thab lucby incident where you banaged to re-grow your hair…" Joly trailed off.  "You coulb'ab ab least gobben better libes theb this, or somebing!"  

The girl in leather propped her feet up on a café table.  "Your first name is now Armand, Jolly. And you!  You'll be… Joe Bob."

"I've got a perfectly good last name!" Laigle wailed.  

"Yes, but it's too hard to pronounce.  Enjy, get over here and get slashy with R."  The authoress, also known as Kitty, cracked her riding whip.  

"No!" came a muffled voice.  "I refuse.  Now leave me alone!"  

"And me too!" chimed in another one.

Kitty cracked her riding whip.  "Jehan… did I say that right?  Yes, Jehan!  Come over here, then!"

A thoroughly blushing Prouvaire appeared.  Cosette's eyes widened, and they shrunk, I suppose, as she had promptly fainted.  Courfeyrac, who had escaped when Cosette had fainted, dashed into the street to "talk" with the Marie-Suzette.  Jean Valjean sprung away to do more saintly things and thereby miss being sucked into the whirlpool of extreme OOC-ness.  Fantine had also gotten a look at Jehan.  She, already having been infected by OOC-ness, had succumbed to the high level of OOC-ness Kitty wanted without protest.

"Like… oh gosh! Totally!  I like, totally dig your leather body-suit poet-man!"  Fantine squealed in a fan-girlish way.  "It was like, totally featured in like, uh… Seventeen or, like, whatever!" But Fantine seemed to be having second thoughts.  "Ugh!  My head… I seem to be having second thoughts… but… like, whatever!  Totally."

Kitty hummed to herself and cracked the riding whip again.  It made a cool sound.

"We're coming," Grantaire grumbled.  He and Enjolras appeared they were wearing black leather body-suits like Jehan, who had hidden behind Joly, who was sneezing and lamenting the lack of good lines.   

"La la la!" Valjean shouted, returning from the street from doing saintly things.  "Look what I found on the street!"  It was an unabridged copy of 'Les Miserables', with a picture of Young Cosette on the cover.

"No!  There wasn't nearly enough slash in this chapter!" Kitty wailed.  

"If we forgive you will you go and sin no more?" Valjean enthused.  "Forgiveness is fun and healthy for all parties involved!"

"He's got a point there," Laigle mused.  

"I'm still rather wrathful about these leather suits," Enjolras grumbled.

"I concur!" Jehan squeaked.

"Me, hic, too," Grantaire hiccupped. 

"And I refuse to say knock-knock jokes!" Javert added.  "Besides, people can never change.  Commit an atrocity once and you're sure to do it again.  Just like you, 24601!"  He lunged at Jean Valjean, who scrambled up a brick wall and perched on a beam in the rafters, because he was Super Saint Valjean and he could do things like that on a daily basis.

"Um…no… I suppose I won't go and sin no more…" Kitty said slowly.  "Making you all do random crazy things is too much fun!"  

"Bye, then!" Fantine said cheerfully as she took the book Valjean had dropped while he was scrambling up a brick wall and threw it at the authoress.  

Kitty melted into a pile of glop and black leather after yelling, "Armand and Joe-Bob forever!"  

"Oh, good, normal clothes!" Jehan exclaimed thankfully, as the leather bodysuit mysteriously turned into regular clothes from the nineteenth century.    

Fantine examined Jehan's orange, green, and mauve stripped waistcoat and blue cravat.  "That's normal?"

Jehan looked insulted.  "Blue cravats are at the height of fashion, I'll have you know!"  

"Not with a waistcoat that looks like that," Fantine murmured.  "And I only had one good dress for the evening, too.  At least it wasn't like that."

"I fear I'b dreabfully allergic to leaber," Joly complained.  "I'll geb a horrible rash, now…."

BANG!

There was a flash of green light and everyone but Fantine (who had sunk into a chair), Jean Valjean (who had run back outside and was doing good works and generally helping society), and Cosette (who was rather unconscious).

"Oh, dear," Cosette sighed, waking up.  "Don't tell me that everyone but us vanished again in a cloud of colored smoke."

"No… lightning this time," Fantine sighed.  "This is getting really old!  Why can't someone write fan-fiction about me, or you, or Monsieur le maire?" 

Cosette shrugged.  "Lack of interest, apparently.  I'm rather put out about this… and they didn't even leave us a student this time!"  

"Not quite!" a voice called out.

"Oh, la de da," Fantine sang in annoyance.  "Someone wants to be all mysterious, like the Phantom of the Opera, now don't they?"

"No!  D'you thinks I'd go cavorting about in the streets in a half-mask and cape with my rheumatism?"

"Are you the Scarlet Pimpernel's protégée, then?" Cosette wanted to know.

"No, that's a female part, and I wasn't female last time I checked.  Besides, large cravats and emprodered lapels do not go at **all** with my complexion!"  The person speaking stepped out of the shadows.  "I'm Gavroche."

"You're not a student!" Fantine protested.  

"Be thou not oppressed!" Valjean shouted from the street.

"It's been four or five pages," Cosette informed the ceiling crossly.  "Aren't you going to end now?"  

And so this chapter finishes.  La.  

I have extra space!  Wheeee!  DELICIOUS VANILLA COKE ™!  Mwahahahahahahaha!  Ahem.  Review, now please.  


	9. Chapter Eight with a dictionary

A/N: I absolutely loved Atlanta, and thank you to all my kind reviewers who asked about it.  I did go to underground Atlanta, and I bought an Iced Tea that had more sugar in it then thirteen delicious Vanilla Cokes™ together!  And my mom bought me a fridge pack of delicious Vanilla Coke™, which makes me very happy.

Disclaimer:  Um… me no own Hugo's masterpiece.  Or the Scarlet Pimpernel, or the Marie-Suzette mentioned below.  I don't really own anything that I write about below except the actual text.  So, yeah.   

"Dum de dum," Gavroche hummed.  "Isn't it so fun to go traipsing about Paris in a strange attempt to mock things while actually just following the crazed, sugar induced fantasies of a fourteen-year-old girl who has nothing better to do?"

"Eh," Cosette mumbled.  "I would agree, but I'm still rather woozy from seeing Jehan, Enjolras, and Grantaire in black leather.  Besides the fact that another authoress dropped something on my head and I seem to be suffering from a slight comma."

"You mean, coma," Fantine corrected.

"No, comma.  She spelled my name ' 'ossotte'."

"It impossible to shorten a nickname," Fantine protested indignantly.  

"Not with hyperactive students hyped up on delicious Vanilla Coke™," Cosette informed her mother darkly.  

"All too true," Fantine agreed.  "I've seen people spell my name, 'Fatine'."

"Check chapter one, part one of this fic for 'Enjorlas'," Enjolras yelled.  He promptly vanished, as he was needed elsewhere.  

"Well, I've no complaints," Gavroche whistled cheerfully.

"Wait… how can you whistle a sentence?" Fantine wanted to know.

"Best not to ask," Gavroche advised her.  

"La, the people of Paris are no longer oppressed," Valjean informed them cheerfully. 

"Wonderful," Cosette murmured, as her vision was now becoming clearer, and she could actually make out some of the physical features of the person in front of her.  Of course, she couldn't tell who it was, but still.

"Sink me; giving money to random people on the street is fun!" Valjean exclaimed.  "Ooh!  A _repressed_ person!  I haven't given money to the repressed people yet!"

"But repressed and oppressed are synonyms," Fantine protested.  

"Not exactly," Gavroche interjected, picking up a large dictionary from the middle of the street.  "Oppressed can mean 'to overwhelm or crush', while repressed doesn't have the same severity."

"Aren't you an un-educated, street-wise gamin?" Fantine wanted to know.

"Society has repressed you!" Valjean cried.  "Here, have money."  

"Whoa!  A Louis d'or!"  Gavroche took it gingerly.  "I've heard of these, but I've never seen one before."  He promptly threw it up in the air and attempted to catch it on his nose.  He succeeded.  And wouldn't you like to know how…. 

"All right, we're sinking into insanity faster then usual," Cosette interjected, squinting at what she thought was a street sign.  Turned out it was a café.  Go figure.  "Perhaps we should do something, like figure out where we're going and who the next authoress who doesn't like to write stories about any of our characters is."

A black cat ran across their path.

"Bad luck?" Fantine guessed.  "Does the next authoress have it in for us?"

"Was that a cat?" Cosette wanted to know.  "Or was it a llama?"  

"I must give the owner of the cat money to alleviate their pain and suffering."

"Shut up, all of you!" Gavroche yelled.  "The cat was obviously sent by the authoress to tell her about the whereabouts of her Marie-Suzette!"

"How do you know?" Fantine questioned.

"By that large flashing sign," Gavroche informed her, pointing at the large flashing sign that proclaimed, "MARIE-SUZETTE" in large neon letters.  

"Why do we have electricity?" Cosette wanted to know.  "I wasn't aware that the light bulb was around now… it actually wasn't invented for fifty years after Papa died, wasn't it?"

"You're making sense now!" Gavroche accused.  "That's against your contract!"

"La la la!" Valjean sang. "Super- Saint Valjean to the rescue against cannon inaccuracies!"  Valjean dashed off towards the blinking neon sign.  

"Who just left?" Cosette asked, having been struck with temporary blindness again for having made sense.  

"Serves you right for trying to stick actual facts into a nonsensical story," Gavroche chirped.

"Valjean," Fantine answered.  "Here, let's go this way."  She marched them down an alleyway until they got to a beautiful girl surrounded by cats.  

"I'm Shalamar!" she chirped cheerfully.  "And Enjolras is madly in love with me!"  She pointed to the aforementioned blonde revolutionary, who was gagged and bound at her feet.  

"You're sick and wrong!" Fantine snapped.  "According to Hugo… um…."

"Enjolras was not aware that there was a creature called 'woman'!" Gavroche interjected.  "And I should know!  After all those times those authoresses had me sneak Eponine into the meetings of the Amis D'ABC!  I mean, seriously!  Wasn't she all goofy on that Pontmercy bloke?"

"Is Marius here?" Cosette wanted to know, perking up.  

"No!  Just Enjolras!"  Shalamar chirped.  She deposited a cat on Gavroche.  "And Grantaire is lurking around somewhere!"

"Oh!  And I have a fic about Enjolras and Grantaire!" a voice called out.  "Review it please!"

"HOLD UP A MOMENT!" another voice boomed.  "I'M NOT SURE WHAT WE'RE DOING, BUT WE'LL PROBABLY GET THIS FIC BANNED BY FF.NET FOR DOING IT!"  

"I don't know how we would!" the first voice protested.

"WELL, THEY GOT RID OF TATTERED SPARROW AND LA PAMPLAMOUSSE'S FIC FOR NO APPARENT REASON TOO."

"Fine," the voice said sulkily.  "Shalamar, continue."

"Oh I just love you Enjolras!  Don't you love me too?"  The Marie-Suzette picked up several cats.  "You're my wattle fluffy muffin of happiness and love!" 

"That worse then me and Marius!" Cosette yelled.  "Get behind me, Marie-Suzette!"   Cosette, being the good Catholic school girl she was, pulled a rosary out of her pocket and threw it at the stunningly beautiful gamine.  It had no effect what-so-ever.

"Oh yes!  I am a good Catholic too; even though I'm so poor I've never actually owned a Bible or gone to church!  Enjolras, my lovely- covey darling, I think we need to get married."

Enjolras screamed.  It was muffled by the gag, of course, but all the same, it was loud. 

"Am I on yet?" Grantaire wanted to know.

"No, now be quiet, and go mope about in a non-slashy way!" the authoress, apparently, informed him.

"I'm tired of banging my head on tables!" he protested.  

"So?"

"My head hurts more then usual when I'm hung-over, and you didn't give me anything that was vaguely alcoholic to help, too!"

"Have a cat," Shalamar offered, and threw a small tabby at Grantaire's face.  

"Argh!  I'm allergic to small furry things!" Grantaire exclaimed.  He screamed and began running about the alley in a highly agitated manner.

"This is ridiculous," Fantine snapped.  "Don't we all have better fan-fics to be featured in then act like this?"

"Eh… no," Gavroche answered cheekily.  "Besides, you know that the other authoress has just consumed a can of delicious Vanilla Coke™, and still has an entire fridge pack left."

Cosette sat heavily on the pavement.  "I wonder where everyone else is...."

"IN THE NEXT CHAPTERS," a booming voice informed her.

"Does this have anything to do with me and my beloved Enjy-wenjy?" the Marie-Suzette asked.

"I'm not your beloved anything!" Enjolras protested, finally getting the gag out of his mouth.  

"You are if I say you are!"  Shalamar snarled, suddenly looking very evil.

"Ah!  I'm terrified into silence and compliance with your will!"  Enjolras screamed.

"As am I!" Fantine added, falling to her knees.  "I have never seen anything so absolutely frightening!  I mean, your hair should never be teased like that!  Even if you are the most beautiful, healthy, and clean gamine in Paris, or whatever, and you'd probably look just as breathtaking with green hair or whatever."

"Even though I'm a hardened gamin who wasn't even remotely scared when I faced the entire National Guard to get ammunition for the barricade, I'm absolutely frozen with terror at the sight of you!" Gavroche exclaimed while falling at the gamine's feet.

"Even though I should be the one the most scared because of my incredibly sheltered life, excluding my time with the Thenardiers, you don't scare me!" Cosette yelled.  "I still can't see anything!"  She blindly stumbled about the street.  "I know you're here somewhere!"  She wandered around until she tripped over Grantaire, who was twitching and foaming at the mouth.   Unfortunately she was rendered unconscious again, but it was the thought that counts.  

"I'm not scared of you either!" Grantaire raved.  "But I think I've come down with rabies!"  

"And I'm not scared of you either!" a heroic voice exclaimed.  

"It's a superhero!" Fantine cried happily.

"No, it's a plane," Shalamar snapped sarcastically.

"No, it's a bird!" Gavroche exclaimed.  "It's got wings!"

"No, no, it's just a super-hero," the heroic voice informed them.  "And that's just my minions… I mean side-kicks!"

"Which one are you?" Fantine wanted to know.  

"I'm…." He paused, either for dramatic effect or because he forgot his line.  Apparently, it was the latter, as one of his side-kicks whispered something.  "The Scarlet Pimpernel!  After all the gratuitous references to me in the past few chapters, I had to appear!"

"Argh!  No, no no!"  the authoress yelled.  "I don't even **like** the Scarlet Pimpernel!  I like Pride and Prejudice better!"

"WELL, I HAVEN'T READ THAT BOOK YET, SO IN COMES THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL.  NOW JUST BE QUIET AND GET ON WITH THE PLOT." 

"Yep!  I went and got him!" Valjean exclaimed.  "That was why I was noticeably absent after I ran down the alleyway.  Don't ask how!  I don't rightly know myself!" 

The Scarlet Pimpernel, his side-kick, and Valjean jumped down from the building and assumed a Charlie's Angel's type pose.

"NO, NO, NO!  STOP THAT!  I'M GOING TO GET IN SO MUCH TROUBLE WITH THE COPYRIGHT PEOPLE IF YOU DON'T STOP RIGHT NOW AND GET ON WITH THE PLOT!"

"What plot?" Fantine questioned blankly.  

"Okay, why I'm really here is to give you this!" The Scarlet Pimpernel pulled an unabridged copy of 'Les Miserables' out of his cloak.  "Take this, Marie-Suzette!"  He pegged the book at the Marie-Suzette, who promptly melted into a cat-shaped puddle.

"Good job Sir Percy!" the side-kick enthused.  "Can I throw the book next time?"

"Ah, but of course!"  He made a big show of handing another copy of 'Les Miserables' to the side-kick.

"Well, you may have gotten my Marie-Suzette, but you haven't gotten the magnificent Nita!" a voice called from the shadows.

"I'll get you in the name of cannon accuracy everywhere!" The sidekick, who was called Andrew Ffoulks, by the way, which is why the authoress keep referring to him as 'the side-kick' because it's just to cruel to call him Ffoulks, threw the book in the shadows.    

"Nice job," the Nita snapped, stepping out of the shadows.  "But I'm still here, and you don't have another copy of the book."  

The Scarlet Pimpernel and the side-kick who was formally known as 'Ffoulks' smiled.  

"That's what you think!  Now, Pontmercy!"  The Scarlet Pimpernel ducked quickly, leaving the sidekick to stare off into space trying to figure out how in the world to pronounce his last name.   

With that, Marius, who was clutching another copy of 'Les Miserables,' took a running leap off the top of a building and tackled the authoress.  He hit her on the head with the book, and she promptly melted, screaming, "Remember, review!"

"Cosette!" Marius cried, racing over to where his wife lay.  She was still rather unconscious.

But since this is a somewhat romantic moment, and the authoress is a large fan of Marius/ Cosette, of course Cosette immediately woke up and was able to see.

"Marius!" she cried.  They kissed, and everyone 'aww'ed and clapped.  Fantine had to lend Gavroche her handkerchief.  

"This reminds me of my wife," the Scarlet Pimpernel mused.  "You know, I think I left her in the clutches of her ex-boyfriend-esque person, who, coincidentally, is a workaholic antagonistic cop.  Best be going.  Ta-ta!"  With that, he and his side-kick vanished, cackling madly. 

"That was odd," Grantaire commented, sitting up.  "Did I have rabies?"  

"Uh-oh!" Enjolras exclaimed, looking up.  "There's an ominous looking cloud looming over us.  I think we're going to be tormented for another few chapters by inane relationships and Marie-Suzettes!"

"Oh, quite obviously," Fantine agreed.

"Well, we'll still be able to perform random acts of goodness on the way!" Valjean enthused.

They were engulfed in a cloud of smoke, and when they left, feathers littered the ground.

"Marius!" Cosette cried.  "He's gone again, and I'm still here!"  She burst into tears.  "Why do people hate me so?"

"Don't worry, I'm still here," Fantine reassured her.

"Be ye not repressed!" Valjean cried, spotting a repressed person and trying to give them money.

"And so's your father."

"Well, I'm here to help you out again," Bahorel groused.  "Why did they have to go and kill my only fan?"  

Fantine sighed.  "You know, I wish once, just once, people wrote angsty vignettes about me, or wrote poetry about my doomed love for Felix, or… I don't know... anything about me!"  

"And me," Cosette added, sniffing.  

"And me!" Bahorel snarled.   

"Be ye not repressed!" Valjean called.              


	10. Chapter Nine with many, many crossovers

A/N:  Whew.  Finally finished this chapter.  Sorry updates are becoming so infrequent.  Um… the list as it stands now is: Eponine Enjolras who changed her name to Irima and Stella Pen (sorry… Irima didn't want to be evil, and I do need villains so you have to double up in that chapter), Broadwaypoetess, krazy4kira, Random Calien, uh… then LesMizLoony, and someone named M/T *squints at review*, oh sorry, Mungo/Teaser, and I think that's it.  Daroga's Rainy Daae and Winter Lady, do you want to be in this too?  After them, I think I will end the fic with moi as I feel like it.  But if you review for this chappie, that may change.  *points hopefully at review button*

Disclaimer:  Yeah, yeah.  I don't own the copyright.  Or do I?  Mwhahahahaha!  No, I don't.  I don't own the Phantom of the Opera either.  Do you?  Mwahahahaha!         

Bahorel and Cosette were sitting dejectedly on the side of a street in Paris.  Fantine was glaring wrathfully up at the sky because the authoresses sometimes liked to go about as clouds, as I'm sure you have noted in previous chapters.  Valjean was still doing saintly things.  The authoress began to wonder about the characters' lack of movement and began drinking a can of delicious Vanilla Coke™. 

"I'm too dazed from my multiple falls to move," Cosette sighed.  "Besides I'm too depressed over the lack of Marius to care about anything."

"I'm too angry over the death of my only fan-girl to move," Bahorel snarled, flinging a rock at a passing cat.  "Shoo!  Your Marie-Suzette melted last chapter."

"I'm too annoyed at the fact that I keep getting left behind," Fantine added, sitting next to Cosette and Bahorel.  "And besides, we've been tramping about Paris all day! Don't you think that it would be night or something by now?"

"It _is_ nighttime," Bahorel pointed out.  "It's just that we haven't had the time in pervious chapters to mention the passage of time."

"Speaking of that, I'm rather hungry," Cosette piped up.  "We've been walking around Paris since… I'm not sure, hang on a moment."  She picked up one of the copies of 'Les Miserables' and flipped through it.  "Well, Papa seemed to have died in the early evening, so we've spent a day going about.  Or a night as the case may be.  Or does time not matter because the authoresses can change it?"

"You're going OOC on us," Fantine muttered worriedly.  "That was a bit too much like Combeferre for my liking."  

"The point is," Bahorel interrupted, "that we have been walking around Paris for a very long time and we are all tired and hungry."

"Except for him," Fantine added, jerking a thumb towards Jean Valjean, who had exited a shop with a large bag full of silver candle-sticks.  He waved the receipt around happily and skipped merrily to a nearby beggar.

"Well, he drank delicious Vanilla Coke™ from the Plastic Bottle of Hyper OOC-ness," Cosette pointed out.  "I'm surprised it hasn't worn off yet."  

"It's because it's convenient to the authoress, who didn't want to have the normal, non-funny Jean Valjean around," Fantine explained.  "But back to the subject.  We're hungry."

"Yes.  I haven't eaten in days.  There wasn't any food at the barricade."  Bahorel squinted at a brick wall.  "Is that a flyer advertising a café?" 

"No… that's a drawing of a pear," Fantine corrected.

"What do pears have to do with this?" Cosette wanted to know.

"What does the sewer septic system of Paris have to do with the fact that Jean Valjean and Marius escaped from the barricade?" Bahorel wanted to know, flipping absently through one of the Scarlet Pimpernel's copies of 'Les Miserables'.  

"I fail to see how the two are related," Fantine sighed wearily.

"Art thou repressed, oppressed, or generally in a horrible situation?" Valjean asked a random passer-by.  "If so, be not so and take this pair of silver candlesticks!"  

The passer-by stared at him oddly then hurried away.

"Let's just give up on this quest-thing and go have dinner," Bahorel suggested.

"That sounds fantastic!" Cosette exclaimed.  "And look!  There is a handily available café across the street from us, and it appears that there is a rowdy party in progress."  

"Should we be suspicious of an evil authoress and severe OOC-ness?" Fantine questioned warily.  

"Probably," Bahorel agreed.  "But at this point in time I really don't care.  I could really go for a delicious Vanilla Coke™ right about now, too."  

The three usually forgotten characters tramped into the café and sat at a table.  Jean Valjean was still passing out silver candle-sticks in a saintly manner.  

"Whatcha want sweetheart?" a beautiful waitress with eyes of gold-flecked amber and sun-kissed raven hair asked them.  

"I'll take the bread and cheese, Madame Marie-Suzette," Fantine ordered dully.

"You only have one item on the menu," Cosette pointed out.  

The Marie-Suzette smiled dangerously.  "So?  I can rip your husband away from you with one flutter of my amazingly long and beautiful black eye-lashes."

"I'll have the bread and cheese too, then," Cosette muttered tiredly.  "I'm very tired of losing Marius all the time."  

"Same," Bahorel said glumly.  "Though not about the Marius thing.  I just want the same food… though I was hoping for chicken or something more filling then cheese."

The Marie-Suzette smiled at him.  "That can be arranged," she purred seductively.  

"No it can't!" exclaimed a girl with glasses as she shoved her way out of a crowd of rambunctious students.  "I don't like Marie-Suzettes!  Get out of here!  Shoo!"  

The Marie-Suzette hissed and then disappeared.

"Hullo!  Now drink this!" The authoress, also known as tattered sparrow, held out a bottle of wine.

"I'm tired of being OOC," Fantine replied, tapping her water-glass glumly.  "I refuse to drink, and be more so then usual."  

"I don't drink on principal," Cosette added.  "As many people seem to forget, I'm a Catholic school girl who was raised by Super-Saint Valjean.  If you'll excuse me, I need to go lament over the loss of my husband."  

"I'll drink!" Bahorel grabbed the bottle and gulped it down.  He immediately became drunker then Grantaire was or ever will be.  Hopefully.  "An' ya shee, lawyers are sha anti-Christs…."  Bahorel hiccupped and then staggered out of his seat and across the room.

"I'm glad I didn't drink," Fantine muttered.  

"An' I did!" Combeferre called out drunkenly, staggering over to Fantine and Cosette's table.  "I'm not shure why, ash I'm shaposed da be th' logic of sha, sha…"

"Revolution?" Fantine supplied, sipping on her water glumly.  

"Yesh!" The drunken philosopher waved a bottle of wine about in a vague way.  "An' pashilly... partially... to avoid slash with Joly, Jehan, and Enjolras."  He shuddered and drank more of the wine.  "Ish vera disturbin'…"

There was a loud crash on the other side of the café that caused Cosette and Fantine to tumble out of their seats.  

"That disturbed my lovelorn musings on my beloved Marius!" Cosette lamented.  "What's going on?"

"I dunno, but they just made me spill water on my one good dress for the evening!"  Fantine scowled at her dress, and began wiping the water off with the tablecloth.  "And I just got that snow stain out too!"

A masked man in a long black cloak plopped down in a chair by Fantine.  "Do you mind if I sit here?  Things are getting a little crazy over there."

"The phantom of the Opera!" Fantine screeched in alarm.

The phantom bowed his head.  "Yes.  I'm not sure what I have to do with a revolution, but I'm here, as are Christine and Erik!"  He pointed across the room at the two, who were dancing an Irish jig and screaming out the lyrics to 'Mater of the House'.  "I think I saw Sydney Carton and, uh… the Hunchback of Notre-Dame, I forgot his real name, sorry, sharing a pint too."

Fantine was livid.  "It was **one** thing to get **all** the **students** drunk, and have **Valjean** hyped up on **delicious Vanilla Coke™**, but now I can't even **begin** on the cannon inaccuracies!"

"Not to mention the Scarlet Pimpernel last chapter… that was a little odd." Cosette primly perched on her chair and pretended not to be moping over Marius.   

"And you were blinded and unconscious," Fantine pointed out.

"And Papa is hyper and giving things out to random people on the streets."

"And we just can't seem to die-"

"And Marie-Suzettes outnumber the amount of cannon characters-"

"And all of the gratuitous mentions of delicious Vanilla Coke™-"

"Okay, stop, stop!" The girl re-emerged from the crowd.  "Stop ranting and do something funny!  Get drunk!  Or be angsty!  Do **something**!"

"Or you'll do what?" Fantine wanted to know.

"Ish betta not ta ashkac," Combeferre advised them from where he had slumped over a table.  

The authoress grinned evilly.  "Or I'll make you be in 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show'."  This did not have the effect she desired, as the characters either stared at her blankly, or were too busy being drunk and rambunctious to notice.

"Cross-overs fail to terrify anymore," Cosette informed her.  "After the Scarlet Pimpernel and the Phantom of the Opera over there…."

"Hullo," the Phantom muttered vaguely.  "Do you need me to ruin someone's opera career or something?"

"No, go get drunk," tattered sparrow ordered.  

"Okay!"  The Phantom of the Opera picked up a bottle of absinthe, and was soon as drunk as Combeferre.  

"Lesh all dance!" the phantom exclaimed happily.  

Immediately, the cannon characters and several opera stars began doing a can-can dance on the bar counter, much to the dismay of the bar-tender, whose hands were stepped on several times by Courfeyrac and Jehan, who were doing some strange sort of waltz.

"Oh… goodness!" Cosette exclaimed in alarm.  

"My God… have they no mercy?" Fantine wanted to know.  She stared as Enjolras and Grantaire slung arms about each other's shoulders and began caterwauling a very bawdy song about the root-vegetables of Paris joining the revolution.  Want the lyrics?  So do I, but they aren't here.  So, nyeh.  

"No, I don't," tattered sparrow informed them.  "And I am not a 'they'!  Call me so and I'll threaten you with emotional abuse!"

"You can't do any worse then being assaulted by a prospective customer and being arrested for it," Fantine informed her.  "And then dying by being scared to death by a police officer."  

"And I was emotionally, mentally, and physically abused from the age of three until the age of eight by a middle-aged women and several children my own age," Cosette added.  "You can't be more horrible then that."

"That is hard to beat," tattered sparrow agreed.

"I'd shay… say… the… thing I wash… was… told ta do afore was worse," Combeferre slurred.  "Can you remember wha it washes?"

"I don't **want** to remember," Fantine sighed.

"La la la!" Enjolras hiccupped, as he and Grantaire ended their song.  "Though I technically shouldn't be drunk and be able to refuse the temptation of alcohol, I'm now comically drunk!"

"And I'm completely in my element!" Grantaire shouted, looking intoxicated and happy.  "Let's hear it for the green fairy!"  

"Huzzah!" the crowd cheered.  

"Oh goodness," Cosette sighed. "For some reason, I despair over the fate of humanity."

"I share in that feeling," Fantine added.  "And I'm not quite sure what I just said was grammatically correct."

"Probably not," Cosette agreed.  "But we've been abusing the 'Spell Check' button on Microsoft Word™ for quite some time now."

"How dosth tha relate?" Combeferre wanted to know.  "I shink I'm gonna passh out…"

"It can check grammar too," Cosette informed him tiredly.  "I kind of wish the Marie- Suzette was here… then we could have actual food…."

"Oh, fine," tattered sparrow snapped.  A bunch of lemon squares appeared on the table.  

"Um… aren't these from another chapter?" Fantine asked.  "I remember that was when Eponine and Javert were forced to recite love poetry or something, wasn't it?"

"Oh yes!" Cosette agreed.  "That was downright disturbing."  She helped herself to a lemon square and chewed thoughtfully.  "Though the leather body suits rendered me temporarily blind, too…."  

Fantine munched on a lemon square as well.  "These are good though."

"Stop reminiscing about things that do not apply to my chapter, you miserable non-written about characters!" tattered sparrow shrieked.  "Look at Combeferre!  He's drunk!  Look at Enjolras!  He's Irish dancing!  Look at Jehan!  He's being a gangster!  Look at Joly!  He and Bahorel are singing 'A Heart Full of Love'!  Rather strangely!  As they can't sing… but still!  Do things!  Funny things!"

"I can't be bothered to do so," Fantine informed the authoress calmly.  "I'm too hungry.  I haven't eaten in years, as I was rather dead for a while."

"No one writes fan-fics about me but to shove me to the side so my husband runs away with Eponine," Cosette groused.

"You're beginning to get annoying," tattered sparrow snapped.  She hit Cosette on the head with a Green Glass Bottle of Drunken OOC-ness.  The authoress would just like to point out that it is very fun to capitalize the initial letter of random words.  The authoress enjoys doing so.  Frequently… which you probably have picked up on or whatever.  Back to the plot….  

Cosette slumped over the table and began to snore softly.  

"Very good," tattered sparrow congratulated herself, adjusting her glasses importantly.  "Not only did you get one of the un-funny non-drunk characters into a coma, but you also have the Phantom of the Opera attempting to get the Amis to sing a chorus from Handel's 'Messiah'.  Very good job."

Fantine glanced over.  Sure enough, the Phantom of the Opera, now rather overtly inebriated, was waving a piece of bread about in front of a group of obviously drunken revolutionaries who were slurring word together so much that 'hallelujah' sounded like, 'murph'.  Fantine was very confused by this.  

"Mon Dieu, this is crazy," Fantine sighed finally.  "Um… excuse me?  I don't mean to make trouble or anything, but are you sure it's a good idea to have such levels of insanity?  It will surely draw the police or the National Guard to this place…."

"Let them come!  They can get drunk!  Like this one, here."  The authoress poked Combeferre, who was rather unconscious and couldn't really tell much what was going on.  

"La la la!" Valjean sang.  "Guess what?  With every large bag of silver candle-sticks and life-altering chance-encounters, you get a free copy of 'Les Miserables'!"  He held up a copy of the book and waved it around.  Not so energetically this time, as y'know, sugar only goes so far….  

"No!" tattered sparrow screamed, whacking Valjean on the head with a half- filled pan of lemon squares.  "You need to be drunk!"

Bahorel stumbled past and flung a bottle of delicious Vanilla Coke™ at Valjean, who quickly consumed half of it.

"Oh…."

"In the name of cannon accuracies, I smite you!"

"I think it would be smote," Grantaire argued loudly.

"Smitten sounds better," Enjolras slurred waving around a bottle of wine.  "I can't believe I wasted so many years planning a revolution instead of getting comically drunk!  What I've missed out on."

"Whatever the word is," Valjean continued happily, throwing the book at tattered sparrow, "you are going to get hit on the head by a heavy 1,232 page book by Victor Hugo."

That she did.  The authoress melted into a puddle of glop after screaming, "I love you Combeferre!"  

The Amis all suddenly passed out.

"Hmmm," Fantine remarked calmly, picking up the pan of lemon squares off the floor.  "I suppose this really is more convenient for the authoresses, to have all the students pass out and whatnot."  She began eating the lemon squares, and then watched as fog in the colors red and black filled the room.  

When it disappeared, Combeferre was still left fast asleep on the table, as was Cosette.  Valjean had run out into the street and was passing out candle sticks.

Very slowly, Cosette and Combeferre came too.

"What happened?" Combeferre wanted to know.

"My head hurts," Cosette remarked, rubbing her head.

"Lemon square?" Fantine offered.  "I can't be bothered to go tramping about Paris without food."

"Okay," Cosette and Combeferre agreed.  They munched away on lemon squares and could not be bothered to go and get on with the next chapter.

"I LOVE DELICIOUS VANILLA COKE ™!" Valjean yelled, skipping merrily around in the slums of Paris.  "Enjoy your candlesticks everyone!"


	11. Chapter Ten with a fun disclaimer

A/N: I am lazy and insane and I don't know anything about the Phantom of the Opera.  That's all you need to know.  

Dis: You suck.

Claimer: I wrote 'Les Miserables'.

Whoops!  They're supposed to be together aren't they?  Well, let's try that again…

Discalimer:  Victor Hugo wrote 'Les Mis'.  Victor Hugo is dead.  I am not.  Therefore, I am not Victor Hugo and did not write 'Les Miserables'.  On with the fic.

"La la la!" Valjean sang happily.  "Look at all the lovely candlesticks everyone has now!"

Cosette, Combeferre, and Fantine looked up from their lemon squares to note that everyone on the street outside were holding a pair of silver candlesticks and wandering around looking confused.  The silversmith was counting out a large wad of franc notes and looking very pleased with himself.

"Well…" Cosette was at a loss for words.

"It benefits mankind," Combeferre remarked vaguely before stuffing another lemon square into his mouth.  "Just like these do!"

Fantine looked at him in alarm.  "Are you still suffering from the after-effects of being forced into OOC-ness for so long?"

Combeferre pondered this a moment and nodded.  "Are you two all right?  Super- Saint Valjean doesn't seem to be the worse for it."

Cosette shrugged.  "I'm fine.  A slight headache from the coma and being hit over the head with a Green Glass Bottle of Drunken OOC-ness, and heartbreak as I've not seen Marius for almost an hour now, but otherwise I'm fine."

"I've been stricken with OOC-ness for so long, I've forgotten what being a normal character is like," Fantine admitted.

Super- Saint Valjean bounded into the tavern happily.  "La la la! I have saved all the repressed and oppressed people of Paris, and even some of those who seemed moderately well –off!"

The authoress would just like to inform her gentle readers that she found a little article on Victor Hugo and Les Miserables in her French textbook.  It is in advanced French and the authoress does not understand most of it, but it had a picture of the cover of the 'Les Mis' CD.  It made the authoress very happy.  Now, back to the story.

"That's fantastic," Cosette said dully.  "Now I suppose we go and find the authoress who has kidnapped most of the characters and is making them do random inane things?"

"It would be logical," Combeferre muttered.  "But let's kill logic!"  He blinked and rubbed his head.  "Ah… the after-effects."

"Let us go rescue the unfortunate!" Valjean enthused.  "But first, I need to stock up on candlesticks."  With that, he dashed across the road to the silversmith, who had hastily stuffed the wad of bills down his pants and was hurriedly melting lumps of metal into extremely ugly but useful candlesticks that look kind of silvery if you squint and make sure that you don't look at it in the light.  Ah.  Capitalism at its best!

"We don't like capitalism!" Combeferre shouted at the above paragraph.  "Everyone should be equal in the republic!"

So you're all a bunch of Communists?

"We don't favor evil dictators and iron curtains over Europe," he said pointedly.  "But the Communists do have some good ideas.

How un- American of you!

"I'm French!"

"I'm confused," Cosette muttered to Fantine.  "Is he arguing with the narrator?"

"It's best not to ask," Fantine advised solemnly.  "This will only bring trouble."  

"If we could stick to the subject of conversation," Combeferre said pointedly.

About you being anti- American?

"You know that's not true," he said crossly.  "I support humanity in all its forms.  Democracy is a wonderful thing.  We students were trying to form a republic!"

And yet you live in a monarchy.

"That's not our fault!"

Yeah, but your insurrection failed.  You all died.

"Pontmercy survived!"

"I should say so," Cosette murmured.

Yes, but your deaths had no lasting impact on anyone but crazed fan-girls who don't want to do their homework.  Were you even listening to "Drink with Me"?  All about your deaths meaning nothing at all.

"What Grantaire sings in a wine- induced drinking song about death does not apply to us all," Combeferre snapped.  

Feuilly, Joly, and Prouvaire sang in it too.  Plus, there's a section where the men sing, and I'm pretty sure that includes you.

"We were singing about friendship and memories, not about the futility of death!"

Yeah.  Right.

"Check your libretto."

Fine... whoops.

"Ha.  I win!"

Don't be too cocky.  I'm the narrator.  I can make you do anything I want.  Like so: Combeferre jumped up and began to do the Macarena, while screeching out, 'Only Love' from the Scarlet Pimpernel™, while drinking delicious Vanilla Coke™.  Cosette and Fantine were very frightened by this, and swore never to argue with the narrator again.  And all was as it should be.

"You shouldn't make me violate so many copyright laws at once," Combeferre sulked.

Tough luck.  Now you know not to argue with the narrator.

"I think he's suffering from being drunk," Cosette murmured, looking very confused.  "I'm suffering from the after-effects as well.  I cannot understand what's going on."

"Because no one bothered to explain it to you," Fantine explained, "which seems to happen quite frequently.  Did Marius ever explain to you what was going on?"

"In the musical, yes.  In the book, I was just generally confused, as all I got were very garbled accounts of what happened at the barricades."

Fantine shrugged.  "C'est la vie."

"Indeed," Combeferre chimed in.

"I'm tired of randomly arguing, commenting, and moping," Cosette declared suddenly.  "Let's go find the next authoress and put ourselves out of our misery."

Someone cleared her throat.  The characters turned to see a girl in a red shirt and a black skirt.  She had dark hair with red streaks in it and was carrying around a Legolas action figure.  

"It's a Marie- Suzette!" Cosette screamed, upon seeing said authoress.  "Ahhhh!"

"Quick, the book!" Combeferre demanded.  He quickly ran to a nearby window and yanked a copy of 'Les Miserables' off the tree branch.  He flung it at the girl, who dropped her Legolas action figure and caught the book.  

"Um…" she said.  "Yeah.  I'm not a Marie- Suzette.  I'm an authoress.  And I've come to help you!"

"No you haven't!" Cosette shrieked very stridently.  "And why aren't you melting!?"

"Because I'm wearing gloves," she pointed out.

"Oh," said Cosette.

"But I've come to help you.  Being a benevolent authoress, I've been going around planting the spiffy trees that randomly grow copies of 'Les Miserables'."

"I thought they were indigenous to France," Combeferre mused.

"I wasn't aware that they weren't," Fantine murmured.  "But then again, I have been dead for a while."

"I thought that my garden grew them," Cosette mused.  "It is an odd garden, after all, as Monsieur Hugo described it."

"Well, they're a special bred that you have to water with delicious Vanilla Coke™ and fertilize with torn-up copies of the abridged version.  No **true** Les Mis fan likes those versions… they're so horrible!" 

The cannon characters looked at each other in confusion.  Across the road, Valjean was trying to give a chicken a pair of candlesticks.  It, apparently, just wanted to get to the other side.  

The crickets chirped alarmingly loudly.  The authoress cleared her throat.  "Anyways, I'm here to help you.  All you have to do is push this button on Legolas's back, and I'll be there immediately."  She put down the book and picked up the action figure and gave it to Combeferre.  "I'd give it to Enjolras if he was here, but I've got him tied up in my closet."

"That does tend to happen to him quite frequently nowadays," Combeferre muttered, studying the action figure.  "How extraordinary!  It looks like a doll, but it's hard and makes sounds!  I must examine this until I can draw it from memory.  Then I shall have to correct some of its design flaws."  He busily examined the action figure, and the authoress/narrator gave him a piece of parchment, a quill and an inkpot because she was feeling charitable towards him once more.

"Um… thanks…" Cosette muttered.  "Why are you helping us?"

"Um…" 

At that instant another authoress burst in, dragging along a bunch of characters that were bound and gagged on top of a sled.

"Okay!" the second authoress shrilled.  "This is **my** chapter!  Get the," insert random curse words here "out of my chapter!" 

"What?" the first authoress asked.  "This is most certainly **my** chapter.  I reviewed before you did." 

"No… I've got the characters, so it's my chapter!"

"Mine!"

"No, mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Mine!" 

"Mine!" 

"Mine!"

"Mine!"

"Oh look.  A mime!"

"Mime?!"

"Mime!"

"Mime?"

"Mime."

"Shut up!" Fantine snapped.  "We don't care whose chapter it is.  Obviously, the authoress… narrator… whoever's typing this on their laptop right now, was lazy and decided to combine two authoresses together to finish the fic quicker, but still get lots of lovely reviews."

Most of which are about being in this fic….

"Irrelevant!" Combeferre snapped, annoyed.

How many more copyright laws do you want to break this time?

Combeferre busied himself with the action figure.

"I don't care!" Fantine replied.  "I'm refusing to obey your whims as the authoress and narrator of this fic and will fragrantly disobey a sentence you stated previously by challenging you."

And so Fantine was defenestrated.

"Whoops," Cosette muttered.  "Guess I won't be trying that."

"Ahem," said the first authoress.  

"What about us?" the second authoress wanted to know.  "'Cause if you're quite finished, I'd like to introduce the daughter of Erik, the phantom of the Opera and then enjoy some nice Grantaire/ Enjolras fics."

"And I," the first authoress interjected, "would like to obsess over Enjolras and write about Eponine."

No.  I'm not done… which brings me to another point.  I hate Eponine.

"Hey!" the first authoress protested.

Shut up.  

"No!"

The first authoress was also defenestrated, and then whacked in the head with an unabridged copy of 'Les Miserables'.  She promptly melted.  

Any questions?

"No," the second authoress said meekly.  

Good.

"Can I write about Javert and Grantaire in a non-slashy way now?"

No.

"Okay."

Everyone was silent a moment.  The second authoress, who was known as Stella Pen, sat in a chair and twiddled her thumbs.  Valjean was talking to the chicken.  Combeferre was studying the action figure.  The gagged and bound Amis were… gagged and bound, and so could not do anything.  Cosette stood by the window and fidgeted with her handkerchief.

"Look," Cosette said finally.  "I'm rather tired of listening to people argue with the narrator.  Can we just get on with the plot?"

"What plot?" Bahorel snarled, managing to get the gag out of his mouth.

So do you want to be defenestrated too?

"So what?" he snapped.

Fine.  What do **you** want to argue about?

"Why does everyone hate me so?"

That's not really something to argue about.

"So?  I'd still like to know why."

I don't know.

"What!"

Hey, I may be an authoress, but I'm not omnipotent.  

"But…."

You **got** a chapter with your fan-girl a while ago.  Think of poor Feuilly, who only has fics written about him when his sister comes to visit.

"He doesn't **have** a sister who visits him!"

Not according to some authoresses....

"Um… am I supposed to do anything?" Stella Pen questioned quickly.

No.

"Oh… all right."

"So…" Cosette sighed.  "This isn't ending, is it?"

I've got a page that I can still fill.

"Fine."

The authoress examined the amount of pages she had written.

Whoops.  Not anymore!  Well, back to the story….

Cosette picked a book off the ground and looked at it curiously, as she could not find a title.  She turned to the second authoress.  "Hey… did you drop this?"

She handed the book to Stella Pen, who promptly melted.  The book was actually a copy of 'Les Miserables'.

"Whoops…."

Green and pink striped socks dropped from the ceiling until the room was buried under the colorful… footwear.  If that is an actual word. 

The socks then vanished, leaving Cosette still staring out the window in bewilderment, Valjean escorting the chicken across the road, Feuilly laying gagged and bound on the sled, and… Gavroche.

"Where is my mother?" Cosette questioned.

"Mrrrrughtph," Feuilly mumbled through the gag.

"What am I doing 'ere?" Gavroche wanted to know.

"La la la!" Super- Saint Valjean sang. "This chapter had no point or plot!"

Obviously.

"Waugh epee e aaaaker eeeench?" Feuilly wanted to know.

The other characters ignored him.

"La," Cosette said simply.  

And so this chapter ends. 


End file.
